


Letters to a Supervillain

by Cherubinhoe



Category: The Incredibles (2004)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/F, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Pen Pals, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15132671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherubinhoe/pseuds/Cherubinhoe
Summary: When Evelyn Deavor is placed under house arrest, she starts receiving letters from the woman who helped put her there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn Deavor receives a letter.

Dear Ms. Deavor,

I hope this finds you well, despite the circumstances. Your brother informed my husband and I of your recent parole, and that you are under house arrest at this address. He also told me that you would be able to receive mail, so I hope you’re able to get this package.

Winston implied when I last spoke to him that you are prohibited from having any kind of technological equipment or anything resembling tools, so I’ve included some vetted forms of entertainment you might be able to enjoy while you’re stuck at home.

I’ll understand if you don’t write back.

Sincerely, Elastigirl

* * *

 

Dear “Elastigirl”,

I was rather surprised to receive mail of any type, and especially surprised to receive mail from _you_. What you’re trying to achieve by doing this, I have no idea. But I’m _so_ glad to hear that Winston is blabbing about my situation to anyone in earshot. If you think sending a LEGO set and a couple of magazines is going to magically reform me into another superhero fangirl, you’re wrong.

Plus, I’m pretty sure this LEGO set is second hand.

One of the minifigures’ heads is missing.

-Evelyn

PS. Your letter reads like a resumé.

* * *

Dear Ms. Deavor,

Sorry to hear about the missing head. If you can describe it to me, I’ll look through my son’s collection and see if I can find it.

To be honest, I’m not quite sure why I’m writing this. I suppose it’s because despite what happened, we do owe you in part for the legalization of supers. As much as I’m sure you’d hate to say it, my family and I are able to exist as we are because of you. So, in a way, we all have you to thank. Despite the murder attempts.

I’ve included a couple more magazines in this package, and a book of crossword puzzles. And some cookies. They’re not good. My husband made them and we as a family are doing everything we can to avoid eating them.

Sincerely, Elastigirl

* * *

Dear “Elastigirl”

I’m glad to hear you’ve deluded yourself into thinking it was my goal to actually aid the legalization of supers. I might have done so, but only unintentionally. But please, if it’ll keep up this influx of magazines and inedible cookies, feel free to keep up the fantasy that I was actually trying to help you.

Seriously. How did Mr. Incredible do such an incredibly bad job with these cookies? I’m a terrible cook, and even I can follow directions on the back of a box. Must be a man thing.

-Evelyn

PS. What is up with ‘Ms. Deavor’? You never called me that before. It makes me feel old. If you’re gonna keep on writing me, I can’t stop you. But cut that out.

PPS. It was a male construction worker’s head. Mustache, sunglasses, that sort of thing. But if you substituted the hard hat for a ponytail I wouldn’t complain.

* * *

Dear Evelyn,

I was unable to find anything resembling the head of a mustachioed construction worker, but I did find a supermodel lady minifigure which I’ve decapitated and included with this letter. Hopefully her lipstick will match her overalls.

I’m not an idiot, Evelyn. I don’t think for one second that you ever wanted to help supers. But before you betrayed us, back when it was still you and me and your brother fighting together to redeem heroes everywhere, it sure felt like you were trying to make a difference for my kind. I appreciated you. Your help, your smarts, your conversation. More than you know.

There’s more cookies in this package, but you’ll be happy to know it’s the last of the batch. Feel free to use them as paperweights.

Sincerely, Helen

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation, an overreaction, and an understanding.

Dear Helen,

Good to see we’re on a first-name basis now. Feels weird to address a letter to ‘Elastigirl’ anyway, like I’m sending a damn fan letter.

I suppose I should thank you for the stuff you’re sending me. Apart from the cookies, which I think could be classified as attempted murder if I cared to press charges. While I don’t have access to a toolkit at the moment, I’m trying to fashion a rudimentary hammer and chisel out of a spatula head and a meat tenderizer so I can turn these monstrosities into art. I’m sure my parole officer will be very proud of the fact that I’m turning to cookie sculpture as a way to work out my… issues.

In any case, now that I have you here, I am curious to know what’s happening in the outside world. Apparently my brother and the courts think I’m too dangerous to even have a radio. They’re afraid I’ll find a way to turn it into a weapon.

I’m sure I could, given enough time and a screwdriver, but still. 

-Evelyn

PS. For what it’s worth, I also appreciated the conversation.

PPS. Don’t read too much into that.

* * *

Dear Evelyn,

I’m sure Winston will be delighted to hear that you’ve found your true calling as a sculpture artist. I raided my daughter’s old art supplies and found a tub of kids’ clay, which I’ve included with this letter. There were some plastic tools that went along with the clay, but the parole officer said I wasn’t allowed to send those. I suppose even brightly colored plastic is too dangerous for such a clever mind as yours. Feel free to take that as a compliment.

I’ve also sent along today’s newspaper-- I was surprised when your brother told me he’d canceled your house’s subscription. He seems to be of the mind that the isolation will help you to recover. I’m not sure I agree, so this is our little secret. But you should know that everything Winston does, he does out of love for you. He’s really trying his best to help you, even if he can be a little naïve sometimes.

Sincerely, Helen

* * *

Helen,

Hang on.  _ You  _ spoke with my parole officer? Christ, I feel like a rat in a cage. Every idiot with a savior complex and too much free time can find out exactly where I am and what I am and am not allowed to have.

I also noticed there’s an article cut out from the newspaper you sent me. I’m guessing I’m right in assuming that article was about me.

Don’t write again. I don’t need your children’s toys and I don’t need your censored headlines and I  _ don’t  _ need you or Winston to save me.

-Evelyn

* * *

Evelyn,

It’s been a few days since I received your last letter. I’m hoping you’ve calmed down enough to want to read this.

First, I’m sorry that my letter upset you. I was under the assumption that you were in complete understanding of your situation. I was only able to contact your parole officer with Winston’s permission; no one else has access to your information. 

Secondly, I realize now that gifts of LEGOs and Sculpey clay could have felt pretty infantilizing from your point of view. It wasn’t my intention at all. I was only trying to think of ways you might be able to spend your time, and as a mother of three my mind usually goes to toys first. You have my apologies for that oversight.

Lastly, that article I cut out from the newspaper wasn’t about you. You’re not in the paper much anymore-- Winston is keeping your case tightly under wraps and the public has all but forgotten about you, seeing as there was no loss of life or major structural damage as a result of your actions. He’s actually quite pleased that I’m writing you.

The article was actually about your father. I thought I’d try to spare you the painful reminder, but I can see how that could have been misconstrued. I’ve included the cutout with this letter-- it’s about his philanthropic contributions to Municiberg and it’s really rather lovely. Your father was a great man.

You needn’t write again if you don’t want to, but I wish you would. Despite your penchant for cynicism, I still greatly enjoy our conversations. You’re a fascinating woman, Evelyn.

Yours sincerely,

Helen

* * *

Dear Helen,

It’s been a while. I didn’t open your letter for a few days, and when I did I considered tearing it up and throwing it away. But I didn’t. I thought it over for a while, and I came to the conclusion that I overreacted. I get that you’re only trying to help.

So, apologies accepted, apologies given in return, hugs and tears and Kumbayahs and so on, could you please send more books for the love of God I’ve read everything in the house and I’m going insane.

-Evelyn

PS. Thank you for the article. You were right, it was lovely. And I did actually enjoy the clay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Books, banter, and a new supervillainess on the scene.

Helen,

Many thanks for the shipment of books. I’ve been stuck rereading Devtech pamphlets for the past week and I was likely to go stir-crazy without new material.  
However, I’m fascinated by some of your picks. I appreciate the Charlotte Brontë and Jane Austen-- I never had much time to read the classics in college, what with three degrees’ worth of textbooks to study up on. But _Fahrenheit 451?_ Not exactly the best thing to send to a supervillain, Helen. It might start giving me ideas. The robotic dog that murders people seems like a fun place to start.

...That was a joke, in case my parole officer is reading this.

Anyway, I noticed there wasn’t a letter with the box of books. Maybe you didn’t write one-- you’re not obligated to-- but if you did they might have been separated in the mail. As my sole connection to the outside world, I look forward to your letters as a highlight of my now incredibly dull life. On a purely news-related basis, you understand. The most recent newspaper you sent seemed to indicate that a new supervillain is at large. I can’t think of a tackier name than  _ Polterghost _ , honestly. Will you and the family be getting involved with this new troublemaker, or is your time taken up entirely by attending to my every whim?

Of course, I wouldn’t complain if that was the case. I have a lot of whims.

-Evelyn

* * *

Dear Evelyn,

Glad to hear you’re enjoying the books. Actually, I heard about  _ Fahrenheit 451  _ from Violet when she was assigned to read it for school. I hadn’t read it myself. Please don’t build a robotic murder-dog or I’ll never hear the end of it from Winston.

Yes, there was supposed to be a letter in the box of books, but the day after I mailed it I found Jack-Jack chewing on it. He must have levitated it out of the box when I had my back turned. Completely irretrievable, I’m sorry to say-- I tried to take it from him and he burst into flames, letter and all. This is what a standard day in the Parr house looks like.

But I’m glad to hear you look forward to my letters! I do, too. Bob’s out most nights handling Polterghost by himself, since he’s more equipped to deal with her powers. Polterghost can go through walls. Theoretically, so can Bob. It’s just a lot louder and a lot messier when he does it.

And yes, Polterghost is a tacky name to be sure. But then again…

Screenslaver? Really? You’re one to talk.

Sincerely, Helen

* * *

Helen,

Hey, Screenslaver’s name had to be sufficiently memorable to get media attention. If it had to be tacky, so be it. And, I’ll admit, I did think it was sort of clever, didn’t you?

So Bob’s on his lonesome with Polterghost, leaving you with the kids? Seems like a fitting way to repay the woman who single-handedly brought back the supers. It’s given me something to think about, though. I went through an entire pad of scratch paper yesterday designing a gadget to see infrared heat signatures through solid walls. I’ve got a rough idea of how it would work, but I can’t do anything more without some way to test my ideas.

To be honest, I felt more like myself than I have in a long time.

-Evelyn

PS. If it’s not too much to ask, maybe another pad of sketch paper with the next letter?

PPS. Speaking of Bob, I’ve been meaning to ask-- does he know about our little pen-pal arrangement?

* * *

Dear Evelyn,

Yes, Bob knows that I’m writing you. He wasn’t happy to hear about it at first, but you have to remember that from his point of view you rolled onto the scene with Winston, then stole me away from my family and left him with the kids, then made me attack him under hypnosis,  _ then _ threatened the lives of our entire family on the boat. So you might forgive him for being a little wary-- he wasn’t there for anything that came before. Really, he barely knows who you are. Not like I do.

Glad to hear you’re getting back into designing. Putting your smarts to good use will undoubtedly help you to get back in the good graces of the public. Maybe there’s some way you can continue to invent under supervision? I’ve included a couple of pads of sketch and graph paper, as well as a box of pencils and whatever design tools I could get past the parole officer.

Bob’s not having much luck with Polterghost, but neither are the police. She targets banks, obviously-- she can phase through any safe, any security system, with no problem whatsoever. She can only phase _objects_ that she’s actually touching, though, so she hasn’t actually stolen much more than what she can fit in her pockets. Still, the fact that Bob hasn't been able to catch her yet is becoming a bit of a problem. If nothing improves by next week, I'm thinking of going out and trying my luck against her. Maybe I'll take Voyd with me-- her powers would work well against Polterghost's, after all.

Oh, and to answer your question from a couple of letters ago, I am not by any stretch of the imagination “servant to your every whim”. On the contrary, I like to think I’m doing quite well in my goal of winning you over for the pro-super cause once and for all.

Yours sincerely,

Helen

* * *

Helen,

“By any stretch of the imagination?” Was that a goddamn  _ pun? _

-Evelyn

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters in two days???? Utterly crazy. Well, actually, I had a three-day weekend, so that's why. AKA there might not exactly be daily updates in the next couple of days... but thank you all so much for your kind comments! This is such a fun, interesting format to write in.
> 
> And don't worry, eventually the letter-writing format will go away.
> 
> Eventually.
> 
> ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is mutual slightly abashed, mostly unabashed flirting.

Helen,

So, Winston visited today, for the first time my house arrest. He seemed… tired. You wouldn’t know it unless you were me, of course. He was as bubbly as he usually is, all smiles and excitement about his next big project. It’s some kind of home security system that is, get this, linked to a database of superhero call signals. Now that supers are legal, he wants to create a way for police and supers to be called to crime scenes simultaneously. 

You can imagine my reaction to this idea. It’s based on the same line of thinking that got Dad killed. But he assures me that this system will have more fail-safes, and be able to be triggered remotely and not just by landline phone. He even wants my input on some of the technological aspects of the design, but part of it involves compiling and curating the actual database of superheroes, and he won’t let me anywhere  _ near  _ that.

I don’t really blame him for it, but I can’t say it didn’t sting slightly. After all, you  _ are  _ doing such a good job of reforming me into a superfan.

(For the record, that sentence was written while wiggling my eyebrows sarcastically. Just so we both have the right idea.)

But, underneath the childlike excitement, I could see that he was worn out. His eyes were a little duller, or maybe his shoulders were a little more hunched. I know my case is just another thing on top of his massive to-do list, and I know I made his life easier when I was still at Devtech. He’s full of dreams, that kid, but sometimes he has trouble getting his ideas off the ground. That was always my job. 

I didn’t realize how much I missed him until I saw him. He didn’t stay long, but he said he might not see me again for a while, what with his big business trip coming up. How he ended up such a ray of sunshine and I ended up such a stormcloud, I’ll never know.

Anyway, that’s enough of me moping. What’s going on with you? How’s the Polterchase going?

-Evelyn

PS. I broke my ballpoint pen. Insert pleading and suggestive eyebrow wiggles.

* * *

Dear Evelyn,

The “Polterchase”, as you call it, is at a bit of a standstill at the moment. She hasn’t made any recent hits, but the city’s on high alert-- cashiers and bank tellers around Municiberg are interpreting any shadow in the night as an instance of a visit from the ‘Ghost Maiden’ herself. Everyone and their brother is now thinking they’ve seen her reaching through a wall, ready to steal not only their money but also their  _ souls _ .

(There were air quotes in that last sentence, though no sarcastic wiggly eyebrows.)

It’s nice to hear that you enjoyed your brother’s visit. I’ve been trying to convince him to visit you more, if only for my sake. I find myself more often than not worrying about how well you’re eating, whether or not you’re going stir-crazy from lack of social interaction, et cetera et cetera. Blame it on my natural maternal instincts. After all, I  _ am  _ your senior.

Yours,

Helen

PS. I will send you a ballpoint pen, but only if you swear off supervillainy forever and promise to reenter the world a reformed citizen. Also, you’ll owe me a backrub. Lord knows I need one.

* * *

Helen,

Oh, come on. You’re not  _ that  _ much older than me. I remember the mohawk,  _ Elastigirl _ . I saw it on TV when I was in high school. It had quite the impression me, if I recall correctly. 

In other news, I’m not looking forward to the rest of this week. Winston supposedly has some ‘bad news’ to give to me tomorrow-- he sometimes sends me letters, too. Does that make you jealous, I wonder? 

All jokes aside, I’m not looking forward to the encounter. I’m wracking my brain for what this ‘bad news’ might be. It’s not like we have any parents that we might be receiving tragic cancer diagnoses for. 

Sorry, that was a bit morbid.

But, honestly, I’m more worried about what comes  _ after  _ Win’s visit. The parole officer called today and said he’s bringing over the therapist tomorrow, so who knows how  _ that’s  _ going to go.

For now, I’m focusing on the designs Winston wanted me to critique. I’ve come to realize it’s the only way that I can feel any kind of normal again. When he visited me, it was just him and me against the world, like it always was. It made me realize that I don’t want to lose that again.

And now you’ve got me waxing poetic about my sorry state. I’ll have you know I’ve never been so esoteric before in my life. Just what have you done to me, Helen Parr?

-Evelyn

PS. Oh my, whatever shall I do? Such lofty demands for a mere ballpoint pen. I suppose I can consider acquiescing to your whims, if it’ll get me that which I desire. However, I must admit I’m surprised at the request for a backrub. Does Elastigirl really get backaches? What a fascinating area of study  _ that  _ could be.

* * *

Dear Evelyn,

Don’t pretend like you’ve never wondered if I get muscle aches from my hyperflexibility. The answer is yes, when I stretch myself too far. And when I’m dealing with a baby with seventeen superpowers and an adolescent teenage girl _and_ a prepubescent chronic troublemaker, stretching myself too far is an almost daily occurrence. Especially with my nighttime hero work keeping me on what my doctor assures me is an  _ extremely  _ healthy sleep schedule.

(What was it that you called it? ‘Sarcastic eyebrow wiggles’? I feel they apply here.)

Polterghost hit her first non-bank target last night; there’s an article about it on the front page of today’s newspaper, which I’ve also sent your way. It was a jewelry store on the West side of town, but she didn’t steal any of the actual jewels. She just went for the cash register again. It’s odd-- what she could have taken from the jewelry cases could have been worth so much more than the paltry few hundred she took from the register. It makes me wonder what her endgame is. Is she scouting these places out? Is she testing the limits of her abilities? I’m curious to know what you think.

In any case, I hope the rest of the week goes well for you. Winston hasn’t let on to me what his bad news might be, in case you were wondering. Just remember that I’m here for you, should you need me. But then again, you’re usually the first one to point out that you don’t need me. Which is fine, I understand. I will continue to be here if you need me anyway.

Yours, 

Helen

PS. Glad you've agreed to my terms. Enjoy the pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in, kids. The next one's gonna be ANGSTY.
> 
> Love Cherubino <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the bad news goes bad, and a decision is made.

Dear Evelyn,

I hadn’t heard from you in a couple of days, so I thought I’d check in. Everything okay? I haven’t spoken to your brother in a while, either-- he’s wrapped up in business meetings for that new Devtech 'Supersecurity' system he’s releasing. 

If you were curious as to why I seem to always know what he’s up to, it’s because he’s… sort of become the sixth member of our family. I don’t blame him-- with no family to speak of save for you, he was at a complete loss for what to do when you were incarcerated. And we’re happy to have him around for dinner several nights a week… sometimes  _ every  _ night of the week… but we do owe it to him, anyway, since it is technically his mansion we’re living in.

He hasn’t been over for a few days, though. He’s still of the mind that he should continue to avoid contact with you for a while longer to give you the space you need to clear your head. Again, not sure if it’s exactly the best course of action for him to take, but it’s not my place to argue with him. He does constantly ask me how you’re doing, which is sweet of him. And no, don’t worry, I don’t tell him  _ everything _ you write to me. I do have some amount of discretion. Like the robot murder-dog, for instance. And promises of backrubs, don’t think I’ve forgotten. Those can still be our little secrets.

Anyway, you asked for updates on Polterghost, so here they are: we’ve got absolutely nothing. She’s still at large, and Voyd and I found it’s no use trying to stakeout the various banks and well-to-do stores of the city. Sometimes she hits banks, sometimes it’s a jewelry store, most recently it was a pet store and the only thing she stole were six bags of cat treats, so points for the category of ‘crazy cat-lady with superpowers’. So now we’re trying to figure out where her hideout might be. But again, it’s a big city, and she could theoretically be hiding  _ anywhere _ . If you have any thoughts on the matter, I’m all ears. I’ve sent you every news article I could find on her most recent hits.

Oh, by the way, Voyd asked about you last night. She guessed pretty quickly that I still had contact with you and wanted to know how you’re doing. It seems you made a lasting impact on her, as well. She was blushing when she talked about how welcome you’d made her feel at that cocktail party you threw for me.

It seems like you’ve had that effect on quite a few young ladies in the city, actually. The only time I ever really see your name in the papers is when doe-eyed journalists ask Winston about when you’ll be back in the public eye. Just thought you might want to know.

Let me know that you’re alright? 

Yours,

Helen

* * *

H,

Sorry for the radio silence. Winston told me his bad news and, yeah, it was pretty bad. As a result the visit from the parole officer and the therapist didn’t go spectacularly well, and I woke up two days and six bottles of wine later. Oops. Don’t worry, though. I’m paying dearly for it with what is becoming quite possibly the world’s worst hangover. If my handwriting’s a little hard to read this time, now you know why. I would ask you to send a bottle of ibuprofen, but I don’t think Mr. Bad Cop is gonna allow you to send drugs my way.

About Polterghost-- I hung the articles you sent me up on the wall and tried to connect them with red string but discovered that it doesn’t magically lead you to the answer, as fun as the process might be. My only thoughts on her are these: she could fit  _ six bags of cat treats  _ on her person, but never takes more than a few hundred when she robs banks or jewelry stores. She’s also never been caught on camera in any of these places, which makes me believe she travels through walls until she reaches her destination. Which means places of business with thin walls or with cash registers way out in the open are most likely safe. The only way we know it’s her robbing all of these places is because she leaves a  _ literal business card _ with her supervillain name on it.

So, riddle me this: if you had the power to slip in completely unseen and unheard and steal anything you wanted without a trace, why in hell would you leave a calling card revealing it’s you?

I’m going to need more red thread.

And also more wine. Can you send wine?

-E

PS. Do I really have that effect on women, or are you just trying to flatter me? Either way, it’s working.

* * *

Evelyn,

If the aim of your last letter was to reassure me of your well-being, it did the exact opposite. What was Winston’s bad news? Is alcohol becoming a problem for you? Is this the first time you’ve reacted this poorly to a visit from the parole officer? How did you come to have so much wine in your house in the first place?

I know I’ve talked about discretion in the past, but I think I need to tell Winston about this.

I’m also trying to get permission to visit you, even if you don’t want to see me. Polterghost can wait. You don’t deserve to be alone right now. 

Please, please be safe.

Helen

* * *

H,

Don’t visit. Not now. Not yet. I don’t want you to see me like this.

-E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: a visit.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit.

Helen’s lungs seemed to be in her shoulders for the entire car ride. She once again studied the address scrawled on a scrap of paper in her hand, checking the street signs until she found a match and turned down the densely wooded street.

The drive up hadn’t been what she’d expected. She’d figured that with the Deavors’ seemingly limitless wealth, Winston would have had her confined to lodging that was to a similar degree of luxury. On the contrary, the neighborhood she found herself in was markedly lower-middle class, not dissimilar to the house the Parr family had lived in before the incident with Syndrome and the jet. These houses, though, were much older in design, and nestled in amongst the trees of the forest that the neighborhood bordered on one side.

Pulling up to one particularly old-looking single-story home with pale blue siding and navy-ish shingles, Helen double and triple checked the piece of paper in her hand and came to the conclusion that, yes, this _was_ the house she was looking for. In all her time writing to Evelyn, she’d never pictured her letters arriving to a location like this.

She sat in the rumbling car for another minute, head against the headrest and staring up at the ceiling. She’d barely gotten any sleep the night before, going over a million times in her head how this reunion might go, exploring every possibility of how the conversation might end up going wrong for one or both of them, fully anticipating for the situation to end in an explosion of repressed anger. Or repressed… something else.

Helen blinked and shook her head to clear it. She was here, and she was willing to bet Evelyn had already seen her car from inside the house. There were only so many windows in the small house, anyway, and most of them faced out towards the road, despite the fact that all the blinds seemed to be closed.

Three more deep breaths, and Helen turned off the car and got out, tugging up the collar of her brown corduroy jacket against the shock of the cold late-autumn breeze.

She cast a glance at the mailbox as she passed it. Empty. So Evelyn had definitely gotten her most recent letter, announcing her clearance and intention to visit. The two of them had long since figured out it took about a day and a half for their notes to reach each other, which was a little less than how much time had passed since Helen had received Evelyn’s last, most troubling letter. She’d been on constant pins and needles since then, and on the phone for a good portion of that time, trying to arrange for the right clearances to visit.

The parole officer had, foreseeably, been extremely wary to allow this. He hadn’t been at liberty to discuss what had gone down in the ill-fated therapy session from a few days ago, but Helen had gotten the notion that her name had come up. He had known about their correspondence-- had, in fact, read a few of their letters before allowing them to be delivered-- and had eventually relented under the notion that it seemed Helen was doing more good for Evelyn than the therapist had been in recent weeks.

Suddenly, she was at the front door, though she couldn’t remember putting one foot in front of the other to get there.

And then it opened, of its own volition.

And there she was.

She looked, by all accounts, _godawful_. The last time she’d seen Evelyn in person was on that fateful day aboard the Devtech ship, filled with righteous anger and willing to kill-- and to die-- in order to see her vendetta through.

Now, Evelyn seemed smaller, dejected, and rail-thin, her mousy hair unwashed and sticking out in all directions. A red-and-black flannel shirt hung loosely off of one bare shoulder, buttons undone and revealing a baggy gray tank top; the dark jeans she wore were coffee-stained and ripped at the knees. She leaned heavily on the doorframe and looked up at Helen through sunken, vacant eyes, devoid of that witty, creative spark Helen remembered seeing when they were together just six months ago. When she spoke, Helen caught the sharp tang of alcohol on her breath.

“Go’way.”

“Evelyn…” At a complete loss for words, Helen reached out tentatively, only for her hand to be weakly batted away.

“I said goway, ‘Lastigirl. Can’t yousee I’m… busy?” her words slurred together, and she mockingly drew out the syllables of Helen’s pseudonym.

“Evelyn.” Snapping out of her stupor, Helen put one hand on the doorframe. “I’m coming in.”

“No! No sssupers.” Evelyn put both her hands on Helen’s shoulders and tried to push her away, but was no match for the older woman, who pushed past her and into the house.

It was so much worse than she was expecting. Clothes, bottles, books, and LEGO bricks were scattered all over the floor of the living room, and it looked like she’d torn up several of her own drawings in a fit. She saw one torn scrap of paper with a mathematical formula and the words _Devtech Supersecurity_ on it in capital letters sticking out from beneath an empty whiskey bottle on the stained carpet.

Looking across the room, Helen saw what remained of Evelyn’s investigation into Polterghost hung up on the wall, complete with red threads connecting several of the articles Helen had sent only a few days ago. Parts of it were torn down and scattered across the floor.

As Helen took all of this in, mouth agape, Evelyn suddenly brushed past her shoulder and plopped down on the couch with a grunt, clearing a few LEGO bricks out of the way first.

“Don’t need you here.”

“Clearly, you do.” Helen looked down at her where she sat, head in hands, unsuccessfully trying to comb her fingers through her own knotted hair. It was longer than Helen remembered-- she must not have had a haircut since before she was arrested.

“Evelyn, how much have you drunk today?” Not needing to bend over, Helen stretched her arm to the ground and picked up two of the empty wine bottles. They were old wines, and expensive.

“Whatever was left.”

“Where did you get these?”

“Cellar. It’s hidden. Another one of pops’ _safe rooms._ ” Evelyn looked up at Helen and gave her a lopsided grin. “Fat lot of good it did him, right?”

“Evelyn…”

“Winston doesn’t know how to get in there, but _I doooo_ ,” she drawled in a sing-songy voice, picking lazily at a cuticle on one of her hands. “Only took me three months and a ballpoint pen to pick the lock.”

Helen’s heart sank in her chest. “Evelyn, we need to get you professional help. This isn’t okay.” Her natural tendency to worry about the welfare of others was kicking into high gear, and as the situation worsened she was finding it harder and harder to breathe.

“What do you know about _okay?_ ” Evelyn hissed, standing clumsily and pointing one wavering finger at Helen. “I’ve never been okay, and I don’t think you have, either.”

Helen was at a loss for words as Evelyn continued her tirade, gesticulating wildly and aggressively as she stalked around the room.

“After mom and dad died, who do you think had to step in and be the parent to Win? There we were, with all that money and no family, and a dozen so-called ‘distant relatives’ vying for our inheritance. They didn’t care about us. The Devtech managers didn’t care, either. They wanted me to be my dad--” she stepped on a LEGO brick with a bare foot and yelped in pain-- “but I’m _not!_ I never wanted to be. But until Win was old enough to take over, I had to be.” She stopped and fixed Helen with a glare. “I was sixteen, Helen. Remind me, how old is Violet, again?”

This made Helen bristle. “What happened to you was horrible, but _don’t_ bring my daughter into this--”

Evelyn scowled and picked up an empty glass from the table and started towards the kitchen. Helen glanced over and saw the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the kitchen counter, and in a flash she’d stretched her arm past the younger woman and picked it up, drawing it back to her body and holding it four feet above her head while Evelyn made loud noises of protest.

Evelyn dropped the glass on the floor and stumbled towards Helen, reaching up in a futile effort to reach the bottle while the other hand rained down blows on Helen’s shoulders, chest, and abdomen. They were too weak to inflict any sort of pain, but Helen felt hot tears pricking the corners of her eyes anyway. Her heart, she realized, was aching for this woman.

“No-- child-- should have-- to grow up-- without a _family!”_ Evelyn yelled between jumps and punches, desperately reaching upwards as fat tears began to cascade down her cheeks.

“Evelyn.”

There was something in Helen’s tone that made Evelyn stop abruptly, looking through bleary eyes into Helen’s pointed gaze.

“If your plan had succeeded, that’s exactly what would have happened to _my_ children.”

And suddenly it all came crashing down, the rage, the self-hatred, the all-consuming sadness, it all came crashing down. Evelyn’s body went slack against Helen’s, her arms draped around the older woman’s neck as her body was wracked with sobs.

Helen stretched her arm once more and placed the bottle back down in the kitchen, and slid her arms gently around Evelyn’s haggard frame. She realized with no small amount of horror that she was able to feel each one of Evelyn’s ribs as she did so, and in another moment her own tears were sliding down her face.

“I’m s- so sorry,” Evelyn gasped, and Helen tightened her grip, rubbing small circles into Evelyn’s back with one hand. “F-for everything. I’m so sor--” a hiccup interrupted her slurred words.

“Shh. Shh. I know.”

Evelyn began to sink to the ground, and Helen went with her; the two women clutched each other on the floor, crying and shaking, for several minutes, surrounded by shredded remnants of invention designs and clothes dotted with bloodred wine stains.

Eventually Evelyn’s breathing slowed to a more normal pace, and Helen reached several feet behind her and plucked a tissue out from a box on the coffee table. They both looked a mess, faces red and puffy, shirts soaking wet at the collars, corduroy lines patterned across Evelyn’s cheek from Helen’s jacket.

“Helen.” Evelyn’s voice was small, and her breathing was still punctuated with tiny gasps. “I’m… tired.”

“I know. We should get you to bed.” But neither woman moved, having found something in each others’ arms they’d been missing before.

By this point Evelyn had completely folded herself into Helen’s arms, head tucked into her chest and gripping tightly onto the back of Helen’s jacket. Helen lightly traced comforting, abstract patterns onto Evelyn’s back, all the while noting the fact that her heart seemed to be doing gymnastics in her ribcage. Whether it was from the leftover anxiety of the reunion, the adrenaline rush from the emotional encounter, or something else entirely, Helen couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was all three.

The late afternoon sun glinted across their tangled forms, spreading warmth cross Helen’s shoulders that matched the warmth coming from somewhere deep inside her.

Finally, after what seemed like a quiet eternity, Helen deftly slipped her limber body out from underneath Evelyn and stood, picking the younger woman up in her arms and carrying her into the master bedroom. She filled a glass with water from the bathroom sink and forced Evelyn to drink it, and then threaded her fingers through Evelyn’s knotted hair until the other woman’s breathing slowed even further.

As she turned to leave, Evelyn’s hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed on to Helen’s, their fingers twining together.

“Don’t leave. Please.”

Helen released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, surprised at the sense of relief that flooded her exhausted body.

“All right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your kind words and comments! I've had this chapter drafted since almost the beginning, but I've always been nervous about deviating from the letter format. It was just my feeling that letters could only go so far, and that a revert to standard prose was inevitable. I'm curious to know what you all think.
> 
> Anyway, now that I'm back into prose it's taking a little longer for each chapter. I'm thinking about shooting for Saturday for the next one.
> 
> Love and hugs and apologies for the angst <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helen wakes up in another woman's bed.

Helen awoke slowly, one eyelid at a time, a yawn parting her lips as she blinked the fog of sleep away. The room she was in was dark, too dark to see the hands of the unfamiliar grandfather clock across the room.

Still nighttime, then.

As the events of the previous day returned to her memory, she became aware of the fact that she had fallen asleep sitting upright, leaning against the bed’s headboard.

Evelyn’s bed. Right.

She looked down now to see her, her eyes having adjusted a little more to the darkness. Evelyn’s head was nestled peacefully in Helen’s lap, her sleeping face partially obscured by her right arm, which was slung haphazardly across Helen’s thighs. Her left arm was crossed up and over her chest to rest on her ceiling-facing side, her fingers still tangled with Helen’s.

Helen felt the rise of her heart into her throat and took several steadying breaths. The memories of the previous day’s encounter swarmed before her eyes, and with it came a wave of residual anxiety. She thought she had prepared herself for the worst, but she hadn’t been ready for just how damaged Evelyn had become. How desperate she had been to keep Helen from seeing the extent of her devastation. How she’d held onto Helen for dear life, as if Helen was the only thing anchoring her to the world.

It scared her, to be this woman’s only source of comfort when she herself was so uncertain about her feelings.

She recalled the days after Evelyn’s incarceration, how the villainess’s face had come up again and again, both in her waking hours and in her dreams. A similar thing had happened in the days following Syndrome’s defeat and death, but in a completely different way. Her dreams of Syndrome were more akin to nightmares; time and again she saw her family kidnapped, tortured, killed by his hand while he leered over her helpless, motionless body.

With Evelyn, it had been different. She had seen a deeply lonely woman for whom a great injustice had been dealt, and dealt with poorly; she saw misplaced blame and a faith in ordinary humankind to prevail without the need for supernatural assistance. And she’d dreamed of the two of them together, sipping drinks and chatting and sharing brief, meaningful moments of physical contact as easily as they had in the time before Evelyn’s deception had been revealed. She had seen someone she could talk to, could relate to, who shared her desire to do good for good’s sake instead of for fame or glory. Who understood that at the end of the day, the only thing that mattered was protecting people, no matter what it took.

But the truth of Evelyn’s villainy was still there. With a shiver she thought back to their conversation in the heat deprivation chamber, to her fuzzy, hypoxia-addled moments aboard Evelyn’s jet, to the moment her hypno-goggles had been dislodged on the ship and she’d realized the extent of what she’d done under hypnotic influence. For a moment, the devil on her shoulder reared its ugly head. _Why this woman? After all she’s done, why did it have to be her?_

But she frowned to erase the thought, subconsciously squeezing Evelyn’s hand as she did so. She looked so much more peaceful now than she had when she was awake, hair all askew and limbs sticking out in all directions, the lines of anger gone from her forehead and the bags under her eyes nearly invisible in the dark. Helen’s heart flitted in her chest, and with her free hand she brushed a lock of Evelyn’s hair back where it draped across her face.

 _Because she needs someone_ , Helen thought _. And maybe I need her, too._

Evelyn stirred, groaning in the dark and disentangling her fingers from Helen’s. Helen let it happen, knowing that there was a good chance Evelyn could regret or even not remember her drunken actions from the previous night and be surprised to find another woman in her bed, especially after so many months of sleeping alone.

“Evelyn, shh. It’s only me.” Helen smoothed back the hair on Evelyn’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear and then realizing with a flash of nervousness that even that might be a breach of personal space, if Evelyn didn’t remember anything.

“Nnh.” Evelyn massaged the shoulder she’d been lying on, as if it had fallen asleep from the pressure placed on it. She didn’t make eye contact as she moved to rub her forehead. “Head hurts.” Then, she looked up, squinting in the dark. “...Helen? What are you--”

“I brought ibuprofen with me. Hold on, I’ll get you some.” Without moving from where she sat, she reached with her left arm to the bedroom floor where she’d discarded her jacket. After rummaging around in the pocket and finding the small bottle she brought it back to her, uncapped it, and tilted two pills into her hand. With her other arm she reached over to the bedside table to pick up the glass of water, and offered both to Evelyn.

Meanwhile, Evelyn was putting two and two together as she propped herself upright on her elbows, pinching the bridge of her nose and deliberately avoiding Helen’s gaze. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. She took the pills, washing them down with a swig of water. “I remember.”

Helen’s heartbeat quickened. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Evelyn looked surprised with herself at how quickly she’d answered, looking up to meet Helen’s eyes. “No.”

“Okay.” Helen rested her palm against Evelyn’s cheek. “I’ll stay. Go back to sleep.”

Evelyn’s whole body froze at Helen’s touch, and for a heart-stopping moment Helen wondered if she’d finally crossed that delicate, invisible line. The two women regarded one another, each searching the other’s eyes for answers to questions that hadn’t been asked.

Just as Helen was about to jerk her hand away and apologize, Evelyn surprised her by closing her eyes and leaning into the touch, turning her face to press her lips gently into the skin of Helen’s palm. Helen was suddenly breathless as Evelyn resettled herself against her side, nuzzling into the crook of her right arm and reaching her hand around so that it rested on the other side of Helen’s waist.

Helen was doing everything in her power to maintain her own steady breathing, despite the fact that her heart was behaving erratically and that she was hyper-aware of every inch of her body that Evelyn was touching through the thin fabric of her long-sleeved shirt. Unsure of what to do with her hands, she settled for lightly stroking the fingers of her right hand across the small of Evelyn’s back and listening very closely to the sound of the other woman’s breathing settling once more into restful sleep.

She rested her head against the headboard and looked out the window into the night sky that was, for the most part, shrouded by the canopy of the forest. Here and there stars glinted between the leaves whenever they were stirred by a breeze.

Perhaps she was reading too much into this. She knew she had a recurring tendency to care for those for whom she felt responsible, sometimes at her own expense. Her mind went immediately to Voyd, of the way the cyan-haired super had blushed and giggled and stumbled over her words when they’d first met. She wasn’t oblivious to the schoolgirl crush Voyd very clearly had on her. But that was different. She cared deeply for Voyd, to be sure, and worried for her safety whenever they went out on a mission together, but Voyd didn’t constantly tug at the corner of her mind the way Evelyn did.

Evelyn nuzzled a little further into Helen’s side in her sleep.

 _Well_ , she thought, _no point in worrying about any of that until morning_. Helen rolled her shoulders, thanked her lucky stars that her superpower gave her a natural defense against cricks in the neck, and settled back into sleep, holding Evelyn tightly against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks for reading! I appreciate the kind comments especially during this little deviation from the letter format. The letters will be back soon! I'm thinking the next chapter will be up Wednesday.
> 
> In the meantime, catch me on tumblr at cherubinhoe.tumblr.com! I love seeing all the amazing art in the hevelyn tag ugh there are so many talented people in this tiny community
> 
> Love, Cherubino


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen starts the day off right, with coffee and angry phone calls.

The next morning, as sun filtered in from the window and cast dappled rays across the bed, Evelyn woke up alone. She pushed herself up on one elbow, rubbing her eyes and trying to make sense of why she felt like something was missing.

The headache was back. She rolled over to face the bedside table, the singular goal of dulling the throbbing above her left eye taking up the entirety of her thinking. She fumbled with the cap and then tapped out the two remaining pills into her hand and swallowed them dry despite the refilled glass of water sitting nearby.

It was when she reached over to place the bottle back on the table that she noticed the note it had been sitting on. The handwriting was neat and precise, each cursive letter flowing serenely into the next.

_Take a shower, but don’t dry your hair after. I’m in the kitchen. -H_

* * *

A smile played across Helen’s lips as she heard the shower start up through the wall, and took another sip of her coffee. She’d had a productive morning already, having been correct in the assumption that Evelyn wouldn’t be awake until at least midmorning.

She’d awoken with the sunlight of the early morning and found herself in the same position she’d gone to sleep in, sitting upright and with Evelyn’s right arm draped around her middle. However, it seemed that the fingers of her right hand had once again sought out the fingers of Evelyn’s left in her sleep, the latter having once again contorted her downward-facing arm around her body until she was able to reach Helen’s hand. Evelyn also had her right leg slung over Helen’s, clutching her close and effectively pressing the whole of her thin body against Helen. There was a strange, metallic feeling against Helen’s shin, and it took her a moment to realize that it must have been Evelyn’s ankle monitor, which she knew from Winston’s dinner table conversations to be a recent Devtech invention. The irony of the situation had not been lost on either of the Deavor siblings.

Extricating herself from that position without waking Evelyn had been a monumental task in and of itself and had taken more than a couple of minutes. But she’d managed it with no small amount of help from her powers, thinning out her limbs bit by little bit and lowering Evelyn to the bed until the other woman was clutching a pillow instead of her, still fast asleep.

She picked her jacket up from the floor and draped it over the vanity, then stopped and instead took it back to where Evelyn snored quietly and laid it over her bare shoulder. After that she turned to the rest of the room and, as silently as she could manage, picked up all of Evelyn’s clothes off the floor and deposited them in the laundry basket. Once the floor was clear from clutter she went to the little master bathroom and freshened herself up, running a comb through her hair and using a little of Evelyn’s mouthwash to swish the taste of sleep out from her mouth.

A quick exploration of the kitchen revealed just how little food Evelyn actually had in her home. Helen’s brow furrowed. She didn’t know all of the details of how house arrest worked, but surely there was some stipulation that allowed for groceries to be delivered to the house. Had Evelyn seriously just not bothered to ask for more food?

Spinning on her heel, she rummaged through the trashed living room, eventually finding the phone underneath a pile of discarded clothes and books but still connected to the wall by a hefty-looking locking mechanism around the outlet.

She didn’t even have to dial a number; as soon as she picked up the phone it began to ring on the other end, and eventually a groggy-sounding male voice picked up.

“Ms. Deavor? You’re up early.”

“This isn’t Evelyn, this is Helen Parr.”

There was a long silence from the other end. “I see. You spent the night, then.” There was something in his tone that caused Helen’s lip to curl in disgust.

When Helen spoke, she found that the words fell out of her, fueled by an overwhelming sense of anguish she hadn’t anticipated. “Listen, pal. You have no right to judge me when you’ve been so neglectful of your _own charge._ ” Aware that there were only a few thin walls between her and the sleeping Evelyn, the rage in her voice came not through volume but in the way she over-enunciated every word, a skill she’d mastered as matriarch of her rather rambunctious family. “I found her emaciated, depressed, self-destructive, and _drunk out of her mind_. How could you let it get this bad? Isn’t it your job to watch out for her?”

The officer finally spoke, a mote of surprise lacing through his otherwise uninterested monotone. “Mrs. Parr, my job is to make sure she’s not a danger to the public while she’s under house arrest. We offer weekly therapeutic and rehabilitation opportunities, but I’m not a babysitter by any means.” Helen’s ire only mounted as he spoke. “Besides, where did she even get the alcohol? You didn’t supply it to her, did you?”

Helen saw red. “How _dare_ you. Of course not. It was already in the house.”

“We did a sweep of the house before she was interned there. We didn’t find anything.”

“Well, you didn’t look hard enough.”

“Mrs. Parr.” Helen could almost envision the officer rubbing the bridge of his nose over the phone. “Thank you for your concern. I will speak with the therapist and make sure he incorporates alcohol abuse and self-harm into Ms. Deavor’s rehabilitation program. I can’t make any promises for when he’ll next be available to visit her, but I’ll make sure he knows it’s urgent. Is that agreeable?”

“It’s a start.”

The officer sighed audibly. “In the meantime, I’d ask that you remove all alcohol from the premises, obviously, and do what you can to alleviate the situation. Is there anything else you need?”

“Yes. Put me through to the nearest grocery store that delivers-- I want to set up an automatic weekly delivery to this location. Also, I want to talk to my husband.”

There was a moment’s pause, in which Helen imagined the parole officer weighing up the inconvenience of Helen’s request with the righteous fury he’d clearly heard in Helen’s voice. Finally he said through gritted teeth, “Fine. Please hold.”

After being connected to the grocery store and arranging for a large delivery of groceries in a few hours and a more basic list of amenities to be delivered weekly, Helen was put through to her home phone. She felt every muscle in her body relax when Robert picked up, and leaned back into the plush cushions of the sofa as they exchanged updates on how their evenings had gone, his voice a soothing balm in her ear.

It was a Friday, and she’d left instructions with Bob to take Jack-Jack to Edna’s if he became too difficult to manage. But Bob had become an expert at dealing with Jack-Jack’s powers, so much so that he was able to teach _Helen_ a few things about what to do in certain situations. He told her that it’d been a quiet night, and that he was going to take Jack-Jack with him into the city to attend a city hall meeting incognito about some of the logistics of super legalization. When Helen expressed worry about Jack-Jack staying incognito in public, Bob only laughed and said he’d be able to handle it. Violet had a sleepover with some of her friends tonight, and Dash was in the middle of building a diorama on poison dart frogs for science class. He’d actually shown a surprising amount of interest in the project, and wanted Robert to take him to the craft store tonight for supplies.

“Will you be home today?” he’d asked.

“I hope so. But she’s in a pretty bad way, Bob. It might not be ‘til late.”

Bob’s voice held nothing but understanding and sympathy. “I understand. Do what you need to do, honey.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

Her heart was warm as she hung up the phone and went back to the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker. She was so proud of the way he trusted her with this, despite having been so flabbergasted when she’d started writing to Evelyn in the first place. But the more she and Robert had talked about it, the more he’d understood, and the more he’d supported her in her endeavor to win Evelyn over. She really was lucky to have him in her corner.

Feeling satisfied with the morning’s progress so far, Helen poured herself a cup of coffee and busied herself fixing up the disaster that was the living room. She sorted the various detritus on the floor into piles, using her stretchiness to access hard-to-reach places and nearly bursting out laughing when she discovered one of Bob’s month-old cookies underneath the couch, still as rock-hard as the day she’d mailed them. She moved all of Evelyn’s ripped up drawings and anything else that might have been worth keeping to the dining table, trashed the empty bottles, and vacuumed up whatever was left. She’d always enjoyed cleaning; there was something about being able to see the difference you were making as you went that she found incredibly satisfying, and after an hour or so the small house looked a sight better than it had when she’d first seen it.

Hearing the shower come on and having nothing else to do until the groceries were delivered, Helen took her coffee with her as she explored the house a little more thoroughly. It really was tiny, and from the décor and the dusty photo frames on the mantel it looked like this had been one of the Deavors’ first family homes, likely before Winston Deavor Sr. had amassed his fortune.

Helen pressed her hand to her lips to hide her smile as she looked over the mantelpiece polaroids of Evelyn and Winston as toddlers and young children, sometimes wearing matching outfits and usually tormenting each other the way siblings do. One photo saw a maybe four-year-old Winston decked out in a rubber ring and floaties, flailing his arms in the air as his sister was in the middle of pushing him into a pool with a mischievous grin on her face. Another had been taken at some kind of elementary school graduation ceremony, with each child holding up a certificate; Evelyn’s said _Science Fair Winner,_ while Winston’s said _Best Smile._ Mrs. Deavor was behind them, a hand on each child’s shoulder, and the three of them beamed into the camera. The last picture was of the entire family at an expensive-looking beach house, with a six- or seven-year-old Evelyn pulling a rather odd face; on closer inspection she could make out that Winston was pinching her in the arm.

She hadn’t known much about the Deavor family before their first fateful meeting, but presumed that Evelyn must have been eight or nine when her father had made it big, moving the whole family into the mansion that would eventually be the location of his own murder. The family must have kept the deed to this house for sentimental reasons, and suddenly it became a little clearer why Winston would have wanted his sister to stay here during her house arrest. Now that it was uncluttered the house was pervaded by a comforting sense of warmth and of lingering familiarity only found in a house made into a home through unconditional love.

The living room held doorways to the dining room, kitchen, and guest bathroom, and a hallway connected the kitchen to the master bedroom on the left and the second bedroom on the right, which was the next place Helen investigated; it wasn’t nearly as messy as the living room had been, leading Helen to think that Evelyn perhaps avoided entering this room. It had two twin-size beds in it, and more childhood photographs and toys neatly aligned on the bookshelf and chest of drawers. One bed had the _Science Fair Winner_ certificate hung above it, as well as a picture of Evelyn holding a strange, brightly-colored contraption in her hands which must have been her winning scientific creation. Helen puzzled at the indeterminable invention, unable to make heads or tails of it, shoulders shaking with quiet mirth as she took another sip of coffee.

“You know, Elastigirl,” came a voice suddenly from behind her, “it isn't polite to snoop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I was hoping for there to only be one more prose chapter before the letters started up again, but it was getting too long for just one update. I'm hoping to still have the next one ready for Wednesday. I know this one's kiiiiind of filler-y, so thanks for bearing with me.
> 
> Thanks for the comments, and for the support across Ao3 and Tumblr (cherubinhoe.tumblr.com). I don't post fic stuff to tumblr much (some irl friends follow me that I don't really want seeing my fic... lol) but I've gotten a couple of wonderful messages on and off anon that have just warmed the cockles of my heart. Y'all are too sweet <3
> 
> Love, Cherubino


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evelyn gets a haircut.

Helen whirled around, nearly sloshing some of her coffee out of its mug. “Evelyn! Oh, well, I. Um.”

Evelyn was leaning with her back against the doorframe, freshly showered and hair wet and mussed, having apparently been observing Helen for some time before speaking up. She’d donned a slightly wrinkled pale gray button-down shirt which was only _slightly_ see through, revealing a black bralette underneath, and had exchanged her ripped jeans for casual black slacks. She smirked at Helen’s flustered response, holding up a hand to stop her. “I’m just messing with you.”

Helen cleared her throat and drummed her fingers on her mug to ease some of the nervous tension which had suddenly seized her. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Evelyn sighed and rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “Like hell,” came the deadpan response. “But I suppose that was to be expected.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

There was a silence that was just a few seconds too long to be anything other than awkward as Evelyn and Helen regarded each other from across the bedroom. Helen was at a loss for what to say next-- every question seemed too forward, every joking remark in danger of touching an exposed nerve. Finally it was Evelyn who broke the silence.

“So… is wet hair a prerequisite for breakfast, or…”

“Right!” Helen said a little too loudly, moving towards Evelyn. “No, breakfast comes later. First, I’m going to give you a haircut.” Evelyn stepped back to allow Helen out the door; as they passed within an inch or two of each other, a shiver ran between Helen’s shoulder blades.

Evelyn’s eyes were wide with something akin to genuine fear. “Uh, are you qualified?”

Helen chuckled as she started down the hallway towards the kitchen. “I’ve cut my kids’ hair dozens of times, and Violet went through a pixie cut phase in grade four.” Helen smiled at the memory as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Evelyn was following her. “She wanted to look like Audrey Hepburn.” She went to stand behind a kitchen stool she’d placed over a towel on the floor and patted the stool expectantly, shooting a sly smile in Evelyn’s direction. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll be appearing in any publicity photos in the near future.”

Evelyn arched one eyebrow, glancing down at the kitchen stool from the hallway as if it might bite her if she sat on it. “Low blow, Parr. Fine.” Gingerly she approached the stool and sat with her back turned to Helen. “But if you cut me, I’m suing.”

“Don’t be a baby.” Helen picked up the comb and scissors she’d placed on the nearby counter and reached out to touch Evelyn’s hair... but found herself hesitating, her pulse quickening at the sight of the back of Evelyn’s neck still speckled here and there with droplets of water.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Helen made a noise of indignation as she squashed down her apprehension and ran her fingers through Evelyn’s slick brown locks, starting at the crown of Evelyn’s head and combing through knots that were days and weeks old and cutting out the ones that were too far gone to be salvaged. As she trimmed the ends back to the length she remembered them being when they'd first met, Helen could _see_ the tension Evelyn was holding in her shoulders at her touch; when she stepped to Evelyn’s side to work on the front, she saw Evelyn’s eyes tightly closed.

“Do you really think I’m going to cut you?” Helen finally asked, exasperated beyond belief.

Evelyn paused, opening her eyes and looking at the floor. “Nah. I figure if you wanted to kill me you could have easily done it last night while I was incapacitated.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs and fidgeted her hands. “I’m more surprised that you’re still here.”

Helen moved behind her again and laid her hands gently on Evelyn’s shoulders, digging her thumbs just a little into the points of tension she felt underneath Evelyn’s thin shirt. “I said I’d stay, didn’t I?”

She felt a shudder run across Evelyn’s back. “Did you? It’s a little fuzzy.”

“Well, I’m here, and I’m not going to hurt you. You can relax.” She made circles with her thumbs into the deep knots in Evelyn’s shoulders, and felt the tension seep out of her; she leaned back into Helen’s hands, eyes still closed but this time without effort. After a few more rotations Helen let her hands trail towards Evelyn’s neck, where she pressed her fingers into either side of her spine; this caused Evelyn to tip her head up a little bit towards Helen, eyes still closed, and Helen took this as permission to travel a little further, cupping her head from the back and massaging the round bones at the base of her skull with her thumbs. Evelyn was putty in her hands, her head relaxed on its axis and her breaths deep and even barring an almost inaudible hitch every time Helen’s fingertips ventured to apply gentle pressure to a new place.

Helen’s breathing was markedly less steady, her lungs seemingly unable to take in enough air as she ran the nails of one hand lightly over Evelyn’s scalp while the other settled back to rest on the spot where Evelyn’s neck met her shoulders, dipping her fingers just below the collar of Evelyn’s shirt to press her fingertips against the warm skin at the top of Evelyn’s spine.

“Mmmh,” Evelyn moaned, and her eyes snapped open in surprise with herself, jerking away from Helen’s hands and nearly toppling off of the stool.

“Sorry, I’m sorry! I should have asked--”

“No, no, it’s fine, I--”

At that moment, blessedly, mercifully, the doorbell rang, causing both women to freeze where they were.

“Who--”

“The groceries!” Helen interjected, red-faced, skirting around the counter to answer the door. “Go get the hairs off your neck and dry it how you like it-- I’ll get breakfast started.”

Evelyn quickly shuffled off to the bedroom as Helen let the delivery guy in, his arms filled with bags. It took them the better part of ten minutes to get it all packed away, and after paying him a hefty tip she gave him instructions on what to do on his next visit. She didn’t let on to the fact that he was technically delivering food to a supervillain, and if he’d recognized Evelyn from the second or two he’d seen her face, he didn’t say. But with stipulations such as ‘don’t let her give you any kind of glasses or headwear’ and ‘don’t be alarmed if there’s a police car sitting out front’, the acne-faced twentysomething left looking a lot more perturbed than when he’d entered.

The scent of toast and eggs curled around the kitchen as Evelyn came back into the room, hair now dry and looking much closer to what it had been before her arrest. She was running her fingers through the back of it and adjusting the front where it hung about her eyebrows, apparently making sure that it was up to her standards.

“Happy with it?”

Evelyn made a face. “It’ll do.” She peeked over Helen’s shoulder to the pan of scrambled eggs she was preparing. “Look, I know you said breakfast would come after the haircut, but…”

Helen turned, and suddenly their faces were six inches apart. Helen didn’t miss the way Evelyn’s eyes flickered down to her lips and back up again. “I’m not leaving until you eat something,” Helen said, unmoving.

“Maybe I’ll just continue my fast, then.” Evelyn closed the distance by a hair’s breadth, face thoroughly unreadable, apparently able to conceal her thoughts and emotions much more effectively when not under the influence of alcohol.

“Sorry, not an option.” Helen held out the hot pan she was holding, forcing Evelyn back in order to avoid being burned. “Eggs?”

Evelyn begrudgingly took a seat at the table and allowed Helen to heap her plate full of plain toast and scrambled eggs. “One hangover breakfast, hot and fresh,” Helen said jovially as she poured Evelyn a cup of black coffee and gave her a fork.

Evelyn looked askance at the food and after another moment began to pick reluctantly at the eggs; Helen sat down at the opposite end of the table and began digging into her own slightly more interesting breakfast, with butter and jam on her toast and hot sauce and bacon bits sprinkled over her scrambled eggs.

After a few minutes of eating in silence, Helen finally addressed the elephant in the room. “Maybe we should talk about what happened yesterday.”

Evelyn sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.” She took a long swig from her coffee and set it down with slightly too much force. “Look, there’s really not much to talk about. I found the booze, I drank the booze, and now the booze is all gone. Unless you were planning to get me more, it seems to me like the problem’s solved.”

Helen gave her a skeptical look. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.” Evelyn sighed but made no further arguments, so Helen continued, “I told your parole officer, who’s going to talk it over with your therapist. And before you get angry with me, I did it because I want you to have support in case you have any withdrawal symptoms or feel like turning to some other means of self-destruction.”

Evelyn laughed darkly at that, which caught Helen off guard. “I think self-destruction is my middle name.”

Helen looked at her, her expression of concern sincere and her voice soft. “It doesn’t have to be.” Evelyn leveled her eyes with Helen’s, also slightly taken aback at the comment. Sensing a moment of connection, Helen broached the question she’d been wanting to ask for days. “Why did it happen in the first place, Evelyn? What was Winston’s bad news?”

Evelyn suddenly seemed to shrink in her chair, leaning her forehead onto her hand so that her eyes were obscured. When she spoke, her voice wavered. “It was stupid. He told me that his sponsors wanted me off the Supersecurity project-- who could blame them, really-- and I overreacted. It was dumb. I was dumb.”

Helen’s heart hurt. “Oh, Evelyn. You’re not dumb, of course you aren’t. It makes sense. You’d finally found something to do with your time and your skills, and then it was taken away from you. I’m sorry it happened.” More than anything she wanted to get out of her chair and go to Evelyn on the other side of the table and hold her, forever maybe, but she stayed where she was, hoping that her sympathy came through in her voice.

Evelyn looked up; her eyes were reddish, but she hadn’t let tears fall. “You and me both.” She turned her attention back to her coffee, taking another long drink and then regarding Helen from the corner of her eye. “Why are you doing all of this?”

Helen had no immediate answer, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. Evelyn continued, drawing her finger around the rim of her mug and studying it curiously, “do you feel obligated, I wonder? Is it because of a deep-seated need to be loved by all, yours truly included?” She looked up, the motion of her finger ceasing suddenly. “Or perhaps you’re just another step in my brother’s plan for my reformation. Is that it?”

Helen found her voice, and responded with a question of her own. “You don’t need to lash out at me, Evelyn. Do I need to have an ulterior motive to care about another person?”

Evelyn cocked her head to the side in thought, then smiled and brought the cup to her lips again. “It’s a touching notion, but one I find hard to believe.” She flicked her eyes up over the cup’s rim to meet Helen’s. “We’ve all got ulterior motives, Helen.”

Helen felt the rise of a blush in her cheeks but refused to break eye contact. “I’ll just have to convince you it’s true, then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

The following conversation thankfully turned to more mundane topics, such as the observations Evelyn had made on the Polterghost case before her destructive episode; Helen felt herself relaxing more and more, the awkwardness of readjusting to each other’s presence finally fading away as the morning turned into the afternoon. After clearing brunch away they moved into the now clean living room and chatted some more about the house and Evelyn’s memories in it. Helen had been correct in her guesstimate of how old Evelyn had been when she’d lived here, but she’d been surprised to hear just how specific and numerous her memories were of this place; she realized, with a twinge in her chest, that when you had so few memories of your whole family alive and happy, you held onto them like precious gifts.

A gentle rain had just begun to fall when Helen stood to leave, having suddenly noticed how much time had gone by. Over the course of the afternoon she and Evelyn had gravitated closer to each other on the couch, telling stories and cracking jokes and laughing as if none of the previous six months had happened. As if they’d just picked up where they’d left off at the cocktail party so long ago. It thrilled Helen, and slightly unnerved her at the same time. Evelyn had placed her hand unthinkingly on Helen’s knee to add emphasis to a point she was making about the absurdity of some rival tech company’s most recent technological advancement. Her voice had trailed off at the end of her thought, and she’d sat looking down to where her palm met the fabric of Helen’s jeans, pondering something.

“It’s getting late,” Helen said as she stood, a little awkwardly, and Evelyn rose as well, a look of trepidation in her eyes betraying her otherwise relaxed stance. “I should go.”

“Yeah.” Evelyn folded her arms across her chest and looked at nothing in particular. “Guess so.”

Helen knew exactly what her leaving would mean for Evelyn. Back to isolation, back to silence, back to nothing standing between Evelyn and her intrusive thoughts. She knew it was improper, impossible even, to stay longer than she already had. She had a life to return to that didn’t revolve around Evelyn, and she missed her family. But damn, if it didn’t hurt to go.

“I’ll come back to visit soon. In the meantime, I want you to put in your letters what you have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and how the therapy sessions are going. And I want you to tell me if anything’s wrong or upsetting you, no matter how trivial you think it is. Okay?”

Evelyn picked at some lint on the sleeve of her shirt. “You already have three kids. You don’t need to mother me, too.”

“I’m not mothering you.” Helen reached out and lightly rested her fingers against the side of Evelyn’s jaw, tilting her head up so that their eyes met. “I’m just trying to show you that I care.”

Evelyn studied her. “Fine. But only if you keep sending me more things to do.”

“Of course.”

In another life, at that moment, standing less than a hand’s length away from Evelyn and with her thumb just barely grazing the soft skin of Evelyn’s cheek, Helen might have leaned in to kiss her; she could picture it in her head clearly, closing the distance and pressing her lips gently to Evelyn’s, telling her everything through touch she couldn’t quite get across to her with words. There was a question in Evelyn’s eyes, and Helen wondered if she was thinking a similar thing.

The moment passed, and Helen felt a little empty. She let her hand drop back to her side and made for the door.

“Oh, and… by the way,” Now it was Helen's turn to avoid eye contact, tugging the sleeves of her shirt down from where she’d rolled them up earlier. “I’m sorry for the… the haircut. What happened, I mean. It was too forward of me.”

Evelyn fixed her with a wry grin, a glint of mischief in her eye that matched the one Helen had seen in the mantelpiece photograph of her and Winston at the swimming pool. “No need to apologize. Besides, wasn’t it me that owed _you_ a backrub in the first place?”

“Well, now you owe me two.”

“Hmph! So be it.” Evelyn made an acquiescing hand motion as Helen opened the door and made to shield her eyes from the rain. “Bye for now, Elastigirl.”

“Bye for now.” Helen took one step into the cool autumn air, the droplets of rain leaving icy pinpricks along her hand and face.

“Oh, and Helen?”

“Hm?”

Evelyn smirked from the doorway and pointed a finger-gun in her direction.

“Don’t forget to write.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Thanks for bearing with me through this interlude-- it went a heck of a lot longer than I thought it would, but I'm happy with the way it turned out. Up next, more letters!
> 
> If you had told me this time last month that my longest fic on Ao3 would be about the Incredibles I would have called you batshit. Or that I'd go see the movie multiple times, usually alone in the theater with 12 screaming elementary schoolers at noon on a Tuesday, just to try to nail down the characters' voices, you know, as you do.
> 
> What I'm saying is I love you all, thanks for riding this crazy train into the sunset with me!
> 
> -Cherubino
> 
> PS. I caved to my own self-inflicted peer pressure and finally made a fandom blog! Come cry with me at cherubinhoe.tumblr.com!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on, as do letters.

Helen,

It seems strange, now, to write to you like this. It’s only been a few hours since you left, anyway. Maybe I’ll just trash this letter and start a new one tomorrow. But I couldn’t settle on anything else to do with my time, especially now that I don’t have the Supersecurity designs to puzzle out. I’m in the middle of making dinner, currently-- baked potato with cheese and sour cream, since you wanted to know. I know there’s nothing green to it but I figure you’d be proud that I’m getting some carbs in me, at least.

So! Now I’m sitting here twiddling my pen with nothing to write about. Maybe I could write about Polterghost? I know we talked about her while you were here today, but I’ve been mulling it over a little more since then and I’ve come to a conclusion. What if she’s not a real villain, like we’ve been thinking all this time? What if she’s just someone who happens to have superpowers, who’s also in a bit of a financial rut? She leaves her business card at every hit, which could be how she’s trying to keep track of where to return money once she’s gotten out of whatever hole she’s in. And she probably owns a cat or several, or maybe she works at an animal shelter. Perhaps you and Voyd need to turn your attention away from banks and jewelry stores and instead look into some of the poorer areas of New Urbem.

I also wanted to... thank you. For visiting, I mean. And to apologize for the state I was in when you arrived. It’d be an understatement to say that you caught me at a bad time, but I think you also caught me at the right time. I’m not exactly sure what I would have done if you hadn’t shown up.

And that’s as mushy a thanks as you’re going to get from me, I promise.

Anyway, as payment for the description of my dinner, I require another book of crossword puzzles. Fair’s fair.

-Evelyn

PS. You left your jacket in my bedroom. Did you do that on purpose? Because I’m not giving it back.

* * *

Dear Evelyn,

I will absolutely trade crossword puzzles for carbohydrates any day of the week; however, I’ve also included a couple of simple recipes I use at home that have a little more veggie value to them. I’m not sure if these meals will compare to the five-star restaurant dinners you might have been used to before, but I figure if Dash is willing to eat them, you’ll be able to manage.

You don’t need to thank me for visiting. To be completely honest, I’d wanted to for quite a while, but worried I might cause more trouble than I’d fix. The last thing I want to do is make you feel like I’m trying to monopolize your connection to the outside world, or that I'm the only person you can talk to. After all, you do have Winston, who should be back from his business trip by now, right? Oh, and all of those forlorn lady journalists, don’t forget. I’m sure they’ll be all over you once you’re released.

Regarding Polterghost, Voyd thinks you might be on to something. She got out a map of New Urbem and charted all the businesses that have been robbed in the past few weeks. We’d done that before, but the radius was too large to be of any use. Well, this time we narrowed down our search to some of the lowest-income neighborhoods right in the middle of that zone. It’s drastically reduced the area we need to cover, and we’re planning on going out tomorrow night to have a look. If we can catch her and figure out what her situation is, we might be able to help her.

Yours,

Helen

PS. Oh dearie me, I did forget my jacket. I guess I’ll just have to swing by and pick it up sometime, won’t I?

* * *

Helen,

Winston is in fact back from his business trip, and he visited today-- he told me you gave him quite the tongue-lashing about leaving me alone after dropping the Supersecurity bomb on me, and he was all adorably apologetic. And also slightly furious when I told him about the hidden safe room full o’ booze. I told him I forgave him, but only after giving him a sisterly hard time about abandoning his only family to the clutches of isolation and alcohol abuse. He was sniveling like a baby by the end of it, and yeah, I felt a little bad. But then we hugged and we had coffee together, and some of that chocolate you got for me. It was nice.

Oh, by the way, yesterday was oatmeal for breakfast, tuna salad sandwich for lunch, and spaghetti with red sauce for dinner. Today I wasn’t up in time for breakfast, so I just had leftover spaghetti for brunch. Living like a rock star, I know. Tonight I think I’ll try one of your recipes-- wish me luck, because I almost burned the spaghetti last night. Yes, you read that right.

Be careful in those rough New Urbem neighborhoods. I remember some of the analyses I did on those areas of town before we sent you out there, and it gets pretty bad, so much so that the local government likes to pretend some of those streets don’t even exist. It’s much easier and cheaper to turn a blind eye to the piss-poor quality of life there than it is to actually make some lasting change. The Evelyn from six months ago might even have speculated that the area was _designed_ to be as shitty as it is to create crime and draw superhero attention and therefore tourism, but present Evelyn isn’t so sure. Let’s just say I’ve seen a lot of bad bureaucracy since my arrest.

So yeah, maybe Polterghost is a no-good dirty rotten thief, or maybe she’s in a bad way and just needs help. She wouldn’t be the only one.

Speaking of, I've been wondering. When you catch her, do you think you’ll be as emotionally invested in her recovery as you have been with mine? Do you make a habit of snuggling with every supervillainess you snag, or is that a privilege reserved for little old me?

-Evelyn

PS. You can swing by all you’d like, but the jacket is mine. It’s warm and cozy ~~and smells like you~~ and you’ll never see it again. Insert corny supervillain laughter here.

PPS. Ignore that scribbled out bit. I need to stop writing these letters in pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The saga continues! These letters are actually pretty quick to write, so expect slightly more frequent updates for the next couple of chapters. The end is in sight, but we've got a ways to go before we get there... in the meantime, I've got a new fandom blog over at cherubinhoe.tumblr.com!
> 
> Also, welcome to all the UK people who're just now getting the release of the film! Come join the tiny but beautiful hevelyn club.
> 
> Love, Cherubino


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is banter, and a question.

Dear Evelyn,

Have no fear, villain dear. You’re the only one getting the Elastigirl Supervillain Rehabilitation treatment at the moment. Believe me, if all it took to reform every bad guy was a hug and a listening ear, you wouldn’t catch me out at three o’clock in the morning on a nightly basis wearing a spandex suit. It’s really not all that comfortable, and we’ve been on the streets so many nights this week that the bags under my eyes have bags under their eyes.

But! The good news is that we have a lead. We lucked out on one of the neighborhoods we picked to case; we were alerted to a tripped motion detector in an electronics store, and Voyd was able to get me close enough to catch a glimpse of a shimmering wall as Polterghost made her escape. She usually doesn’t show up on motion detectors, but we got lucky-- she must have misjudged the distance from the wall to the register. I followed her for as long as I could without being spotted, which wasn’t far, but at least we know we’re in the right locale. I have a good feeling about tonight-- and then I might finally be able to get some real sleep! Imagine that.

I must admit, it's times like this when I wish you were able to help us. Do you remember that gadget you thought up a while ago, the one that saw heat signatures through solid walls? Every night we’re out there, I think about how much easier this would be with something like that-- someone like _you--_ behind us.

Now, with regard to the jacket. The corny supervillain laughter is somewhat concerning. You see, I seem to recall that we had reached an agreement on that front involving ballpoint pens and backrubs in exchange for complete renunciation of past villainy. We were making such progress! Although it might have been naïve of me to assume that just one visit would be enough to help you fulfill your end of the bargain. I’m sure there’s room in my schedule for a follow-up appointment sometime soon.

Got to go-- Bob’s calling. Apparently it’s time to suit up and head out for the evening. Winston’s babysitting, can you believe it? He was all smiles and excitement when he offered to do it, so I’m morbidly curious to see how he does. Who knows? Maybe this is his true calling. I know you won’t get this until tomorrow, but try to send good vibes his way-- he’s going to need it.

Have a nice night, Evelyn.

Yours,

Helen

* * *

Helen,

Winston, babysitting? Now there’s a surprise. I know he’s a people-person, but I thought babies were a little beyond the scope of his salesman prowess. You can’t schmooze a baby into falling asleep, after all. Childcare is certainly not a hidden talent of _mine_ , that much I can assure you. While you were having three kids, I was busy getting three degrees. Which in my case meant excruciating pain, endless crying, and countless sleepless nights. Or, wait. Perhaps I’m more qualified to take care of kids than I originally thought?

In any case, I’m waiting with baited breath to hear how things went for Winston.

Speaking of how things went, I wonder if you caught Polterghost last night. I’m flattered you think I might have been useful to you, but I’m not sure if your teammates-- or your husband, for that matter-- would feel the same way. Not that I mind all that much. But I can see what you’re doing, Elastigirl. Angling for a future job prospect for me, are we? You’d have to do a lot of convincing in order to get my brother and his sponsors to come around on the issue.

You’d have to do a bit more work on the Supervillain Reformation part of the plan, too. You were right in thinking it’ll take more than just one “appointment” to bring me over to the good side. I’d ask for a second opinion, too, but I suppose you’ll have to do. After all, I don’t really care for anyone else’s opinion.

-Evelyn

PS. Sorry, almost forgot. Breakfast - banana, lunch - tomato soup and grilled cheese, dinner - vegetable pot pie. Oh, and a whole bag of cheeze doodles as a snack, because I’m an adult.

PPS. And yesterday’s therapy session went well. He doesn’t hold a candle to your methods, though.

* * *

Helen,

It's me again. Maybe your letter got lost in the mail, or maybe mine did? It’s happened before, so I wouldn’t be surprised. I’m thinking there has to be a better way-- like a system for sending messages over telephone wires, for instance. Hm. That’s got me thinking. I’ll have to do some drafting after I’ve finished writing this.

Anyway, I don’t remember all of what was in my last letter, but I think there were some rather clever lines about Winston’s apparent proclivity for babysitting, and there was probably some banter about you coming to visit again. I’m sure it was all brilliant.

Or perhaps I’ve offended you, and you’re giving me the silent treatment. Oh, woe is me, whatever shall I do all alone in my tiny house without my beloved pen pal? But that doesn’t seem likely, either. I’ve said worse to you in previous letters and you’ve still insisted on keeping up this strange little thing we have going.

Don’t mistake my tone for disdain. I’m grateful, if still a little surprised, for all of the attention. After all, I _am_ a master supervillainess the likes of which the world has never seen. I could have easily been steering you into a dastardly trap. Maybe I’ve been leading you on from the very beginning!

...But, no. You saw the rather embarrassing fallout of my turbulent emotional state, and I’m skeptical that I’ll ever be able to live that down. I suppose I’m not really that intimidating of a villain anymore, am I? There'll always be a bigger, badder bad guy to catch, always a new doomsday plan to thwart. I’m being left in the dust-- I shudder to think how far I’ve fallen.

Oh well. New leaves and all that.

Anyway, I’m still wondering how the Polterghost showdown went. If the mailman loses your next letter, I’ll just have to invent and utilize some kind of death ray to convince him to take a little more care in his job. Once I’m done inventing my new electronic mail system, that is. I’m telling you, I think this idea’s got potential.

-Evelyn

* * *

Helen? Are you there?

-Evelyn


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are more questions, and an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating upped to M for language

Helen,

This is getting ridiculous. Either someone is stealing my mail, or you’re giving me the cold shoulder. I’ve been wracking my brain for something I said that might have offended you to such a degree, but I'm not coming up with anything. I’ve even been following your little rules for days, reporting diligently on my meals and my therapy sessions like a delinquent teenager in juvie. So, Elastigirl, kindly answer me this: what the _fuck_ gives?

The parole officer’s being his typical assholeish self, telling me he’s not at liberty to make calls on my behalf, not even to help me get some damn closure. Winston hasn’t called in a while, either, which makes me believe he’s either in on the act or has fucked off overseas somewhere for a project.

And this goddamn mother _fucking_ anklet is going to be the death of me. It’s my technology, you know. I know exactly how it works, how it’s put together, and what will happen if I set foot across the invisible line on my front porch. I can’t even get close enough to the sidewalk to whistle out to the newsboy in the morning so he can throw me a damn charity newspaper. But I’m very good at my job, and I built this thing to be indestructible. Indefatigable. Unhackable, unless you’re me. But even then I’d need an advanced toolkit, and mine is about twenty miles away and twenty stories up.

Perhaps it isn’t my fault. Perhaps you were suddenly whisked away to some far-off country to film a car commercial or endorse some newfangled brand of dish soap. Maybe you were just using me to brainstorm ideas for catching Polterghost, and now that you’ve succeeded, I’m dead weight. Maybe this is just another step in my brother’s rehabilitation program, and this is all a test to see if I go off the deep end again now that you’ve left me in the dark.

Or maybe you suddenly came to terms with the fact that despite your seemingly robust relationship with your husband, you've been finding yourself more and more distracted by the lost, lonely supervillainess you helped to put away. And maybe that scared you, more than you’d like to admit.

Maybe I’m assuming the worst. Maybe I’ve just had my hopes dashed one too many times to assume anything else.

-Evelyn

* * *

Helen,

Okay, okay. It did just now occur to me that if something _did_ happen that was out of your control and you were debating whether or not to quit writing me for good, some of the things I said in my last letter might have inadvertently done the trick. So this is me, apologizing. I overreacted yet again and went to a dark place like I usually do when I jump to conclusions. Except this time I had no alcohol to drown it in, so I had to make do with an entire bag of chocolate chips.

I’m just so damn frustrated by this radio silence. You know better than anybody that I don’t do particularly well when left to my own devices. I don’t like not knowing things. It makes me feel helpless, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more helpless than I do right now.

I’m so sick and tired of being treated like a child. I’m tired of being protected from information that someone in a suit and tie very far away has deemed too upsetting for my oh-so-fragile emotional state to handle. I’m sick of the isolation and the boredom and this tiny house and all its fuzzy wuzzy feel-good _family memories._  I’m tired of Winston and the parole officer and the therapist always treating me like a delicate flower, like I’m always just one tiny step away from another complete breakdown.

I just want to talk to you. I just want to apologize, for Screenslaver and for the boat and for whatever I did to lose you again. I want to talk about you and your family and Winston and Voyd and the others, and I want to hear about how your day is going and what your kids are doing in school and even about your late-night hero work. I miss you. God, I miss you.

You’re all I have, Helen.

Please just let me know that you’re alright?

-Evelyn

* * *

Dear Evelyn,

I’ve been staring at this blank sheet of paper for a while now. I don’t really know where to start, so I guess I’ll just begin by saying that I’m trying to do what’s right here. You might be surprised to hear that I don’t trust you-- I never have, really-- and that no matter what anyone else says about how you’ve changed or turned over a new leaf or whatever, there will always be a part of me that doesn’t trust you. I’m sure you can understand why.

But I’m not just writing to berate you. I’ve received all of your letters; I haven’t opened any of them-- again, trying to do the right thing-- but they’re sitting in a pile in front of me and from the sheer number of them I’m guessing you don’t have much of an idea of what happened. I know that it must have been hard, being in the dark for so long. That much I can relate to.

I won't mince words with you. There was… an accident. A bad one. It was all over the news several days ago, but I only recently remembered that your access to outside information is pretty limited. Things are looking better than they did, but it's still pretty touch-and-go. I’ve been in and out of the hospital for days, and while it seems like things have stabilized, I’ve been told that the only thing we can do is wait and see what happens.

I feel like it would be best to tell you more of the details in person. I’ve been cleared to visit you, so I’ll stop by sometime Tuesday morning, assuming things don’t take a turn for the worse before then. If you don’t want to see me, don’t answer the door.

I may not like you, but I don’t think you deserve to be left in the dark. See you soon.

Regards,

Robert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: a visit.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A visit of a different kind.

Evelyn hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep that night. How could she? Her mind was on fire and her heart felt likely to overwork itself to a complete stop at any moment. She wished she had hidden away just one of the bottles of whiskey from the cellar, if only to help her sleep. Eventually she threw back her covers and got out of bed, pacing around the room and clutching Helen’s corduroy jacket close to her body.

 _This is ridiculous_ , she thought as she unthinkingly brought the jacket up to her face and breathed in its scent. _She’ll be fine. She’s a super. And, as I know from firsthand experience, extremely difficult to kill._

But her mind kept conjuring pictures of Helen, broken and bloodied on the street, or shot in an alleyway, or unconscious on a table, or dead in the ground. She shook her head and scratched at her scalp almost violently, trying to get the intrusive images _out_. She stubbed her toe on a leg of the vanity and yelled a string of curses into the emptiness of the house, and then swept everything off of the top of it in one swift arm movement.

Looking down at her meager collection of cosmetics and hair products now littered across the floor, she asked herself aloud why she was so worried about Helen’s well-being, anyway. So they’d shared some flirty one-liners through the mail. And a bed. What did that matter? It seemed clear Helen hadn’t wanted anything more, and although she was doing her best to convince Evelyn otherwise, there was still the nagging voice in the back of Evelyn’s head that whispered, _she’s only doing this because she feels pity for you. Because she thinks you’re a child who can’t take care of herself._

With another grumble she tucked the jacket under her arm and knelt to pick up the mess she’d made. It was nearly four o’clock in the morning, and the late-autumn sun wouldn’t be rising for a while yet, so she shuffled with bare feet into the living room and plopped down at the writing desk in the corner, getting out a sheet of paper and a pen. Before she fully realized what she was doing, she was drafting another letter.

_Dear Helen._

_If you’re reading this, that means you’re up and at ‘em. Well, welcome back to the real world, slacker. I missed you--_

She crumpled that letter up and threw it away.

_Nice try, Elastigirl, but if you thought for one second I’d let you die on me without sending more cookies first--_

Another ball of paper struck the wastebasket’s edge and fell to the floor beside it.

_Helen, please, for the love of God, you are not allowed to die, I need you--_

Evelyn made an anguished noise and slammed her forehead down onto the desk. Her shoulders shook, but she didn’t cry. She didn’t breathe, even. She just sat, utterly motionless, letting darkness cloud the corners of her vision before gasping in an enormous lungful of air.

Bob said he’d be coming over in the morning. He hadn’t said exactly when. She desperately needed to know what was going on, but she looked forward to seeing him like she looked forward to a poke in the eye. Why did he want to see her in person? What would she say to him, about any of it? She knew he was aware of the letters and of Helen’s visit, but who knew what he thought of it all?

Evelyn rested the side of her head against the desk and let the questions swarm around inside her mind, helpless to stop them or even muffle them in the deafening silence of the empty room. Helen’s jacket had at some point fallen from her lap to the floor, so she pulled it closer to her with her foot until she could reach down and pick it up without moving her upper body. The ridged corduroy fabric was soft underneath her fingers, and at once the springlike scent of Helen’s perfume curled around her and soothed the raging voices in her head.

Evelyn groaned as she stood from the desk. Every muscle in her body ached like she’d just run a marathon. Without really thinking about what she was doing, she found herself slipping the jacket on over her nightshirt, tugging the collar up around her ears and breathing in deeply. Her eyelids suddenly seemed heavy, and she dragged herself over to the couch and flung herself down upon it, arms clutched tightly around her own shoulders in a lonely woman’s facsimile of the way Helen had embraced her in this very room not so very long ago.

 

When she woke up, the doorbell was ringing, and the glaring sunlight sent bright lines beaming across the carpet through the blinds. Evelyn shot upward and launched off of the couch, racing into her bedroom and throwing off Helen’s jacket as well as her pajamas. When she ran back into the entryway she was still buttoning her jeans and straightening her plush white sweater.

The doorbell jammed again, with a slightly worrying amount of force, and Evelyn wrenched the door open, swallowing nervously.

Robert was there, all six foot whatever of him, filling up the doorframe and wearing a pained expression that bordered between intense grief and even more intense reluctance.

For a while neither spoke; as exhausted as Evelyn must have looked, Bob surely looked worse. The bags under his eyes were impressive, and clearly betrayed not just one but several nights without sleep.

“Listen, I--”

“How is--”

They had both chosen the same moment to speak, and then sputtered and stammered at one another, each gesturing for the other to go first. Evelyn held up her hands to put an end to it, and then gestured into the room behind her.

“Do you want to come in?”

Bob rubbed his temple. “To be honest, no.” He looked knowingly at her, his expression intense. “Let’s get a thing or two straight, okay? Like I said in my letter, I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you.” Evelyn felt herself taking a step back. “But my wife does, so I’m going out on a limb here and putting my faith in you.” He fixed her with a glare. “For Helen’s sake, don’t make me regret it.”

Evelyn matched his gaze and nodded. “Same to you.” He seemed surprised by the retort, so she clarified, “I barely know you, but I know what you’re capable of. I happen to like having my head attached to my shoulders, and I believe Helen does too. That’s all.”

Bob acknowledged her stiffly, something clearly weighing on his mind, but then moved past her into the house and found a seat on the far end of the couch. He looked enormous on the low-lying sofa, his form almost comically large against the petite patterned cushions. Evelyn stood against the wall, as far away as she could manage while still being in the same room.

There was another long silence; when it seemed like Bob wasn’t going to say anything, Evelyn couldn’t wait any longer to ask the question she both did and did not want to hear the answer to.

“How is she?”

Bob let out a long exhale. “Better. Still not awake, but better.”

Evelyn realized she’d been holding tension in just about every muscle of her body; all at once it rushed out of her, and she felt noodley. _She’s alive._ “Thank Christ,” she breathed. She found herself leaning heavily against the wall and sinking to the ground, her legs suddenly unable to support her. When she spoke, her voice sounded detached from her body. “How did it happen?”

Bob was staring at his palms, as if trying to read the future on them. He didn’t make eye contact with her when he spoke. “We almost had Polterghost. We caught her in the act, and when she tried to make a break for it she leapt off of a building. We thought she was trying to kill herself.” His voice was strained, as if he were about to cry. “Turns out her power allows her to sink into the ground to avoid injury from falls. Helen didn’t know that,” he choked. “None of us did.”

Evelyn could see the situation play out in her mind’s eye and knew, from deeply personal experience, exactly how it would end. “So Helen…”

“Jumped after her. Tried to catch her, make a chute. She caught air and there wasn’t enough time to react.” He let out a strangled, unnatural-sounding bark of laughter. “Blunt force trauma isn’t usually a major concern for her, but it was _six stories._ She’d be dead if it weren’t for her powers.”

Evelyn couldn’t breathe and clutched at her chest, taking up as little space as she could curled up against the wall. The uninvited images flashed again through her brain. Helen bloody, on the ground. Just like she’d imagined. “But she’s… alive.” She could barely get the words out.

“Yeah.”

She felt a giddy laugh tear through her, and suddenly she was on her side on the floor, giggling and crying all at once. Bob looked aghast for a second, clearly under the impression that she’d finally gone insane, but then a few moments later found himself unable to resist joining her; his shoulders shook as he laughed into his hands and let the tears he had been holding back in front of his family finally fall.

“Sorry-- sorry-- I’m just.” Evelyn clutched at her stomach and sniffed loudly. “I was going crazy, not knowing.”

“You and me both.” Bob’s laughter settled down, and he pulled a crumpled tissue out of his pocket and blew his nose. “This was days ago. For a while they weren’t sure if she was going to make it.” There was an empty devastation to his voice, even as remnants of hollow laughter occasionally punctuated his words. “God, you should have seen the kids. They were so scared.”

“Shit.” She hadn’t even thought of the children; she righted herself up against the wall, still clutching her knees to her chest and gasping for breath. “Are they okay?”

“They are now that we know she’ll wake up. But it was so hard. To be what they needed, when I was barely holding it together myself.”

“I can’t imagine.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“Do you want coffee?” Evelyn asked meekly.

“No, better not.” Bob rubbed his eyes. “After this I’m going home and sleeping.”

“Good, because I don’t think I can get up anyway.”

Bob snorted and glanced up towards the photographs on the mantelpiece, taking in his surroundings for the first time since he’d arrived. When he spoke, he managed to sound both eager to change the subject and unenthusiastic to make small-talk. “Helen told me this place was small, but I hadn’t pictured just _how_ small.”

Evelyn might have felt embarrassed, once upon a time; a few days ago, she might have even felt claustrophobic. But in this moment she looked around and appreciated its smallness. So much of her life had become _larger_ than life in recent years, and she’d lost herself in it. She’d hated it here, at times, but right now she saw the solace in it, as if her family were always close, even when they weren’t. The fuzzy-wuzzy memories were at present more comforting than they were cloying. And Helen had been here, too. Making new memories.

Evelyn found the strength in her legs to stand and meander over to the mantel, reaching out to brush a line of dust off of one of the photo frames. She hadn’t missed the hidden message in Bob’s words. “She told you what happened?”

“That you were a mess? Yeah. And that she… helped.” She noticed him watching her like a hawk in her peripheral vision, saw the way his whole body tensed when she walked in front of him. What he expected her to be able to do that might threaten his safety, she had absolutely no idea. Between her distinct lack of inventive capabilities and the fact that he could snap her in half like a toothpick, it seemed clear to her that he had nothing to fear in this situation.

“I’m honestly surprised you were all right with her visiting in the first place, seeing as you’re so distrustful of me,” Evelyn said, making her way over to the other end of the sofa and sitting down slowly, leaving as much distance as possible between them. She brought her legs up underneath her to sit cross-legged.

“Hmph.” Robert visibly relaxed, likely sensing that Evelyn was about as much of a threat to him as a gust of wind. “I wasn’t all that surprised when she told me. She’s always found you… _compelling_ , to say the least.”

Evelyn's heart missed a beat or several. “Pardon?”

He ran one hand through his short blonde hair. “I know Helen, and I know when she’s drawn to someone. Even before you went off the deep end, I could see she was always fond of you.”

Evelyn blinked, not quite processing what he was saying. “And you were okay with that?”

“Like I said, I trust her. And--” he stopped, as if debating whether or not to continue the thought. “Our relationship isn’t always what you might call… monogamous.”

“Hold on. _What?”_

“You heard me. We’ve both had… inclinations towards other people. People we weren’t supposed to, according to society.” Bob rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, I was the first of the two of us to realize I wasn’t as, uh, _straight-n’-narrow_ as the tabloids might think.”

Evelyn, completely and totally shell-shocked by this revelation, crawled forward on the couch until she was right in Bob’s face. “Who was it.” It wasn’t a question.

Bob gave her an incredulous look. “Who was-- what?! I’m not going to tell you that!”

  
Evelyn moved closer, eyes wide as bowling balls. “No, you actually have to tell me. I _legitimately_ need to know.”

Bob blathered on for another few seconds, speaking complete gibberish and making vague motions with his hands. When Evelyn caught his eye again, he gave in with a disgruntled noise, folding his whole body forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Lucius. Before he was married to Honey, I mean.”

“No _fucking way._ ” Evelyn sat back on her knees, utterly floored. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“I knew it! Back when you and Frozone were on television together all the time, before you went underground. I _knew something was there!_ ” Evelyn smacked her fist into her open palm, giddy with vindication. “Win told me I was crazy, but I was _right!_ ”

Bob looked at her, utterly nonplussed. Eventually she noticed, and cleared her throat. “Right,” she said. “Sorry to interrupt. As you were saying.”

Bob sighed heavily. “As I was _saying_ , Helen and I always knew our attraction wasn’t limited to each other, even after we were married. But we always promised to be open and honest with each other about whatever we felt, or whomever we pursued.” Bob chuckled, pressing his fingers to his forehead, “which was why she was so angry after the secret hero work I did on Nomanisan island.” His laughter bubbled up from within him. “She was _furious!_ She thought I might’ve gone for that Mirage woman without telling her, but I couldn’t… without Helen… and then when I thought I’d lost her… and now...”

Suddenly he looked as if he were about to cry again, and Evelyn didn’t know what to do. His broad shoulders trembled, and his enormous frame suddenly seemed small and fragile.

“Robert…” Evelyn reached out tentatively and touched him on the arm. He noticeably flinched, and she withdrew her hand sharply. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

Bob buried his face in his hands and let out a titanic sigh, and the air around them was suddenly saturated with the dense silence of two diametrically opposed people brought together by common tragedy. Evelyn mimicked his posture, resting her elbows on her knees and covering her face with her hands.

Eventually Bob spoke, and the sound was almost too loud in the otherwise deafening silence. “You love her, right?” he asked, only looking at her from the corner of his eye.

Evelyn felt the almost physical impact of the question in the center of her chest, and she struggled to form a coherent thought as her mind was suddenly alight with the thought. She had never even allowed herself to contemplate the notion before, let alone admit it out loud to the bereaved husband sitting next to her. It was an impossible concept-- or at least it had been until about five minutes ago-- and for the very first time she allowed herself to consider the idea.

It only took a fraction of a second to come to an answer.

“Yes,” she breathed, and wasn’t even sure Bob could hear. But he did, and he looked at her, eyes softened with understanding and perhaps a touch of sadness.

“Then we have one thing in common.”

Evelyn’s heart was jackhammering in her chest with the revelation. “But I don’t… she’s too good. I don’t deserve-- I don’t have the _right_ to…”

“Love her?” Bob’s massive shoulders bounced once with a short laugh. “I’ve thought the same thing myself, once or twice.”

“You?” replied Evelyn, unconvinced. “But you’re Mr. Incredible.” She said it with just a hint of mockery in her voice, and hoped he understood it to be in jest.

He did, and smirked in her direction. “Yeah, but I haven’t always been that incredible of a husband, or a dad.” His face fell. “How she’s put up with me this long, I have no idea.”

“I can relate to that,” Evelyn said, nodding, before suddenly realizing that the statement had the potential to be misconstrued. Not wanting to inadvertently become a fine red paste on the wall, she waved her hands apologetically and stammered, “I mean, not putting up with you, I mean-- her putting up with _me,_ you know, after everything--”

Bob held up a hand to stop her and then took a deep, cleansing breath, clearly planning his next words carefully in his mind.

“When she first told me she was writing to you, I couldn’t believe it. I was even upset with her, for a little while. And no, before you ask, it’s not because you’re a woman. It’s because you’re _you_. The things you did, the way you threatened her, us, our _kids..._ ” he clenched his fists on his knees, and Evelyn unconsciously edged further away from him on the couch. Then he relaxed, though Evelyn could still see the tension he was holding in his neck. “But Helen and Winston have so much faith in you. They keep insisting that you were just… misguided. That you’re different now.” He locked eyes with her, his eyebrows knit together in a fierce pointedness. “So, to be clear. I don’t trust you. But I do trust them. And if you hurt her, I will end you. You know I can.”

Evelyn could only nod, her breath held tightly in her chest and her vocal folds clenched together out of fear, and maybe anticipation. There was something in the way Bob spoke that dripped with implication, but in her stunned silence she couldn’t seem to spark together two synapses in her brain to decipher exactly _what_ it was he was implying.

Bob suddenly rose to his feet, exhaustion bearing heavy on his shoulders, and made for the door. “I should go. I’m beat,” he said as he steadied himself with one hand on the door. Evelyn felt the fear of being alone and unaware rise once again into her throat; Bob must have noticed the change in her body language, because he held her gaze with a look that might have been approaching real sympathy. “I’ll call if things get worse.”

“I… I appreciate it.” Her words were sincere, despite the fact that her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Sure.” Bob looked at his feet, and each of them was suddenly at a loss for anything more to say. With a nod and a quick ‘bye’, he turned the door handle and was gone.

And suddenly Evelyn was alone again, the silence of the walls around her pressing thick against her senses. With trembling legs she returned to her bed, picking up the corduroy jacket from where it had fallen and curling into a fetal position around it, lying silent with eyes wide open and tears gently sliding down her cheeks, slowly slipping back into unconsciousness while her tired mind wandered to places it had never wandered before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus h. christ on a bicycle this is the longest chapter i've written yet
> 
> Continued thanks for reading, and for the kind comments across Ao3, tumblr, and the discord! I'm shooting for Monday for the next update (my camp counselor responsibilities ramp up over the weekend haha). I appreciate your patience, your kindness, and your support. Oh, and sorry for how worrying the past few chapters have been ;)
> 
> Love, Cherubino


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things look up.

Evelyn cradled Helen’s face in her hands, running her thumbs along Helen’s cheekbones and admiring the way Helen’s soft auburn hair hung delicately over the right side of her face in its slightly disheveled state. She brushed it behind Helen’s ear, and Helen looked at her with a knowing glint in her eye. Feeling her breath catch in her chest, Evelyn closed the distance until she was only a hair’s breadth away from Helen’s lips, and as their shallow breaths mingled together Evelyn could both hear and feel the other woman chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Evelyn asked, almost too softly for Helen to hear. Helen slipped one hand teasingly up the back of Evelyn’s shirt, running her nails lightly over the bare skin of Evelyn’s back and making her shiver with delight.

“Mhm. Oh, nothing.” Helen tangled the fingers of her other hand into the downy hair at the nape of Evelyn’s neck; Evelyn responded by running her hands along the sides of Helen’s turtleneck sweater, curling the fabric into her fists and tugging their bodies ever closer together.

“Then you won’t mind if I kiss you?” Evelyn was breathless now, eyes half-lidded as she brushed her lips delicately over the skin at the corner of Helen’s mouth.

Helen moved backwards and away from her, suddenly, and Evelyn made a noise of protest. She opened her eyes to search for her retreating lover but found herself unable to move, rooted in place by some unseen force. Helen was walking away from her, back turned, suddenly wearing her bright red supersuit instead of a turtleneck.

Evelyn looked down at her feet and saw concrete and brick, and realized she was on top of a building.

Panic filled her lungs and her veins and she reached towards Helen, calling out to her to turn around, to come back; the sound was swallowed by the air around her, and Helen didn’t hear. Evelyn watched in horror as Helen unflinchingly stepped off of the roof and fell down, down, down.

And then suddenly she was falling, too, arms flailing madly as she saw clouds above her and, as she spun in midair, the sea below her. This was familiar. She’d been here many times before.

Only this time there was no figure in red shooting down out of the sky to grab her. The painful jolt of gloved arms winding around her midsection and halting her fall never came. There was only the sea, rushing up to meet her.

Evelyn screamed and screamed and screamed.

And then she was awake, writhing in her sheets and yelling into the empty air of her bedroom. There was no rooftop. No ocean. No Helen.

Evelyn untangled herself from the sheets, grunting as she tried to take stock of where she was and slow her thudding heart. She was on the floor, next to her bed; she certainly hadn’t gone to sleep there. That explained the very real sensation of falling, then.

Evelyn stood on shaky legs and hobbled to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. This wasn’t the first falling nightmare she’d had, not by a longshot. It also wasn’t the first time she’d dreamed about Helen.

It was becoming a bit of a problem, actually.

In the days following Bob’s visit, Evelyn found herself filled with a restless energy unlike anything she’d felt before, itching for ways to pass the empty time and desperate for updates that never came. No news was good news, to be sure-- Bob had said he’d call if Helen's situation worsened, and he didn’t seem the type to lie about such things. But the silence didn’t help to quell the overwhelming agitation that plagued her night and day.

It wasn’t the same empty anguish she’d felt in the days before the Alcohol Incident and Helen’s first visit. Neither was it the creeping despair that had come as a result of Helen suddenly ceasing to write. No, this was different. There was something manic about this, a fluttering, wanting thing that drove Evelyn wild in her solitude. It wanted Helen, alive and well and here with her again, but it was also absolutely bone-chillingly terrified of the implications of such a thing.

In the days since Bob’s visit she’d replayed their conversation in her head thousands of times, analyzing everything he’d said for an answer to the question she’d been too numb to ask directly.

Did Helen feel the same way?

Bob never said outright that Helen had any romantic interest in her. He’d only said that Helen found her _compelling_ , but that could mean just about anything, the same way one might refer to a flop of a movie as _interesting_ or the way Evelyn’s elementary school teachers had sometimes called her _unique_.

There had been flirty banter in their letters, to be sure, but that had been there since the beginning of their relationship. It was in Evelyn’s nature to talk and act a certain way, and she supposed that could hold true for Helen, as well. And yeah, Helen seemed to have no qualms about climbing into bed with her on the night of the Incident, but her actions could have been driven by friendly concern or motherly worry just as easily as by romantic desire. In fact, knowing Helen, the former was far more likely to be true.

So what if, when Helen was back on her feet, Evelyn acted on such feelings only to discover they were one-sided? What if she accidentally chased away the one person outside of her immediate family who seemed to have a vested interest in her continued well-being?

Evelyn scowled at herself in the bedroom mirror and stalked back out into the living room, pulling out _Fahrenheit 451_ from where it sat on her bookshelf and cracking it open to the first page. She’d already read it three times, but nowadays she was willing to do anything to keep her mind from conjuring all kinds of imaginary worst-case scenarios, as it tended to do when she was unoccupied.

And so she spent her days busying herself with meager distractions, cleaning corners of the house that didn’t need to be cleaned and spending hours in the kitchen experimenting with what limited foodstuffs she had, taking elements from some of Helen’s recipes and combining them with others just to see what might happen. She ended up cooking way more food than she could actually eat in a week, and would usually dump some on the grocery delivery boy or the therapist whenever one of them stopped by.

She didn’t dare tell her therapist about Helen, or about the way her heart did somersaults whenever Elastigirl’s name came up in conversation. Despite their slightly prickly weekly conversations she barely knew the guy, and had no idea what kind of horrific treatment he’d subject her to if he found out about her romantic inclinations towards other women. He’d clearly noticed a change in her demeanor, but Evelyn had chalked it up to finding ‘peace and purpose in solitude’ or some such garbage. It seemed to placate him, which in turn made his visits less stressful for her, so Evelyn didn’t particularly care about not being forthright with him.

 

One day, while Evelyn was sitting at the kitchen table doodling on a piece of scrap paper, the doorbell rang when she wasn’t expecting it to; immediately the blood drained from her brain, and she nearly knocked her chair over in her haste to get to the door, checking her hair in the mirror as she went. As she yanked the door open it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the glare of the sun on the soft blanket of snow that covered the front yard.

“W… Winston?”

“Evelyn!” Her brother swooped her up into a hug, spinning her around in the cramped entryway. He put her down and gazed at her fondly, his kind eyes brimming with warmth. “I missed you.”

Evelyn was slightly dazed. “Where the hell have you been?”

“We can get to that later-- I have good news.” Winston gripped her by the arms with enough excited energy to leave small bruises. “Helen’s awake!”

“What?!” Evelyn’s had swam with surprise and relief, and she gripped Winston’s arms back, the excitement in her eyes now matching his. “When?”

“This morning. She's a little groggy, but she’s on the road to a full recovery.” Evelyn made a gleeful noise and hugged him again, grabbing handfuls of his suit jacket and burying her teary eyes into his lapels. Winston laughed as he pressed his cheek against her hair.

“Christ,” said Evelyn, sniffling as she drew her head back from Winston’s shoulder. “I’m so glad. You have no idea.”

“I wasn’t with her when she woke up, but I was nearby when I got the call.” Winston let her go, and his voice became suddenly softer as he looked at his feet. “Bob’s there now, and Karen’s on her way with the kids.”

“Oh.” Evelyn gave him a weak smile. “That’s good.” So the whole of the extended Incredibles family would be there, except for her. Evelyn moved to the sofa and sat on the middle cushion. “I wish I could be there.”

“She does, too.” Winston’s voice was gentle, and Evelyn looked up at him in surprise. “Her right arm’s still injured and she can’t write. I asked if she wanted to dictate a letter to me, but she said she’d rather talk to you in person, when she’s able.”

Evelyn’s heart thumped. “She said that?”

Winston nodded, and sat down on the couch next to her. Their knees knocked together like they had in car trips and under the dinner table when they were kids. “You were the first one she asked for, after Bob and the kids.”

Evelyn studied her hands for a long moment, feeling warmth flush through her stomach and spread into her limbs. _That doesn’t mean anything. It means she wanted to know if you were dead from alcohol poisoning yet._ Evelyn flinched physically in response to the unwelcome thought, and Win noticed, reaching out to place one hand comfortingly on her arm.

“Eve, are you all right?”

“Why didn’t you call, Winston? Why didn’t you visit, or write, or _anything?_ ” she asked, fixing her brother with a pained look. A guilty blush tinged her brother’s ears as he looked down and away from her.

“I’m sorry. I just-- I was babysitting the kids when we heard the news.” He stared across the room to the pictures sitting above the fireplace. “The kids were shattered. Violet was insonsolable. I couldn’t--” a tear rolled down his cheek. “It was too familiar. I couldn’t deal with it. It just took me back to Dad.”

Evelyn wiped the tear away for him. “You could have come to me. _Should_ have.”

“I know. I just… wasn’t strong enough, I guess.” He looked at her through bleary eyes, the corners of his lips turned up in a mournful smile. “You were always there for me, when they died, and I relied on you so much for strength. For everything. Then, when it came down to it, I couldn’t do the same for you.” His shoulders were wracked with a sob. “I’m sorry, Eve.”

Evelyn didn’t bother trying to hold back the tears that pressed hot against the backs of her eyes, and she gathered her little brother into her arms. “I know, Win. I know.”

They sat together in the quiet stillness of the house for several minutes before Winston extracted himself from Evelyn’s arms, chuckling sorrowfully and wiping his face with his sleeves. “Look at me,” he laughed. “I came here to bring good news, and now I’m a mess.”

Evelyn looked as much a wreck as he did, and pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table to blow her nose. “Yeah, well.” She punched him in the arm lightly. “You’re always a mess.”

He gave her a lopsided grin and punched her back. “That’s why I rely on you, cheese-head.”

“Monkeybrain.”

After another few moments of cleaning themselves up, Evelyn stood to get some refreshments from the kitchen. Her most recent culinary experiment had involved combining a box of banana muffin mix with a coffee-flavored icing recipe of Helen’s, with chocolate chips thrown in just for fun, and the muffins had turned out far better than she could have anticipated, what with her cooking escapades usually ending in disaster. The siblings ate way too many muffins each and sipped black coffee as they talked about Devtech’s latest products and projects. Several muffins into the conversation, Winston leaned into Evelyn as if he were about to tell a secret.

“So, here’s the thing.” He set his cup down on a coaster and steepled his fingers together in front of his face. “The scientists we hired to replace you are good, but they’re not you.”

Evelyn rested her chin on her hand and arched one eyebrow. “Obviously. Go on.”

“Devtech’s sponsors don’t love it when I include you in the design process while you’re still under house arrest. _So.”_ He interlaced his fingers and pointed his thumbs at Evelyn. “What I’m _not_ doing is asking for you to provide input on our latest invention, which just so happens to be a method of electronic communication over extremely long distances using home computer systems.” Evelyn blinked; when she didn’t say anything, Winston reached over to the coffee table and nudged a notepad and pencil towards her with an air of nonchalance.

Evelyn’s eyes widened as she twigged onto his meaning and snatched up the paper and pencil, scribbling furiously as he described the project and its specs. It wasn’t unlike the communications system she’d dreamed up as an alternative to letter-writing in her desire to be able to speak with Helen even more frequently, but now Winston was giving her the software details she needed to get to work on the design particulars.

“So, to be clear!” Winston said with finality after he’d finished rattling off the list of mechanical limitations and draft proposals. Evelyn had filled two pages with notes and was already scribbling some of her initial thoughts in the margins. “I am not under any circumstances providing you with any such classified Devtech information. I’m merely calling upon an anonymous expert in her field to serve as a consultant for some of this project’s initial blueprints.” He stood to leave, tugging down his jacket and straightening his tie. “Sound like a plan?”

Evelyn looked up at him and grinned. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Excellent.” He winked, and headed to the door. “I’ll be back soon, Eve. For real this time, I promise.” He held out his arms to her, and she left her notepad on the table and stood to walk into them. Winston held her tightly, as if she might float away if he let go. “Be safe, yeah?”

“You too.” They stepped apart, and she opened the door for him. The wintry outside air swirled around her legs, making her shiver. “Thanks for coming, and for the good news.”

“My pleasure. Let me know if you need anything. From now on I’m always here for you, whenever you need.” As he stepped out onto the porch his eyes were filled with determination, and regret, and hope, all at once.

Suddenly, Evelyn was struck by a memory. “Well, for starters, you owe me a soda.”

Winston cocked his head to the side in confusion. “A soda? Why… what were you right about?”

Evelyn grinned. “Incredizone.”

Winston’s jaw hit the ground just as Evelyn closed the door in his face, cackling manically to herself, leaving her brother dumbstruck in the snow.

 

Evelyn spent the next several days buried in piles of papers, the reassurance that Helen was on the mend and the distraction of the Devtech project-- lovingly entitled _Project Letters_ \-- occupying the majority of her time and her mind. Winston stopped by every other day or so, collecting up her designs and handing back critiques from the other scientists; most of these criticisms were laughed off by Evelyn, who complained that Winston’s new hires had no imagination. She’d tweak her designs (in a new, different handwriting she’d developed as a method of hiding the identity of Winston’s “consultant”), hand them back to him, and then get to work on the next leg of the project.

He also came with updates on the Parr family and Helen’s continually improving health; he reckoned she’d be out of the hospital very soon. He also explained that he had to pull dozens of strings in order to get Helen to a doctor that was aware of her… unique situation, and who understood the complicated nature of dealing with and treating the distinct and often unpredictable nature of Super physiology. But things were looking up, for everyone.

The days weren’t quite so long anymore as Evelyn finally found herself with purpose and a renewed hope; she worked into the early hours of the morning and then slept until noon because she wanted to, not because she had nothing better to do than sleep. She kept writing to Helen, too, figuring Bob or Winston would be kind enough to take her letters from the Parr mailbox to the hospital for her. She talked about the work she was doing for Winston (in heavily veiled metaphors) and also about her misadventures in the kitchen.

She didn’t mention anything about her conversation with Bob, or the way that Helen was still always in the corner of her mind as she worked, or the way that she still slept curled around Helen’s corduroy jacket despite the scent of her perfume having all but worn away. She didn’t mention that she still dreamed of her, almost every night. Every time she considered putting her feelings into words she found herself frozen with fear, unable to put pen to paper to dictate all the ways she wanted to touch and hold and kiss the woman she’d come so close to losing. So she settled for providing Helen with all of the mundane details of her now slightly more upbeat life.

A week after Winston’s first visit Evelyn was sitting at her writing desk, working furiously at an algorithm  she’d been stuck on all morning. There was ink all over her face and arms from where she’d accidentally broken a pen in her excited fervor earlier that morning, and she had already resigned herself to having to get rid of the grey-and-black striped dress shirt she was wearing that was now also covered in great dark blotches of ink.

The doorbell rang, and Evelyn snapped out of her trance. She glanced up at the clock above the corkboard in front of her that was absolutely covered in tacked up sketches, collected data, breakthroughs, and mathematical formulas. She’d even broken out the red thread again, liking the way it helped her connect one thought or discovery to the next. But she wasn’t expecting Winston today, and needed more time to finish working through this aspect of the software design. It’d be nice to see him, but he would have to leave empty-handed.

Standing and shuffling her papers into something resembling a pile, she ran her thumb across her cheek and rolled her eyes when it came away stained black. The doorbell rang again, and Evelyn decided there wasn’t time to clean herself up. Winston was going to have to deal with her scruffy appearance, whether he liked it or not. She braced herself for his teasing comments and headed over to the door.

And then the door opened.

And there she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! This weekend was crazy with camp stuff, and I wasn't able to even start this chapter until late last night. I've actually burned through all the stuff I had written in advance, so I'm thinking of shooting to get the next chapter up Thursday. Again, thank you for your patience, and for all of the kind comments and the INCREDIBLE FANART!!!! Seriously, I never thought anything I did would EVER get fanart and I shed literal tears whenever I see it. You guys are so wonderful, seriously.
> 
> Love, Cherubino


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helen wakes up in an unfamiliar bed. Again.

Helen winced as she shifted her upper body against the backseat of the taxi, trying to find a more comfortable position for her battered bones. The skin underneath the bandages that wound around her chest, shoulder, and right bicep itched something terrible, and it was all she could to do keep from fidgeting. The strap of her sling was digging into her neck, to boot.

But none of that mattered, not really. Helen glanced out the window at the light flurry just beginning to fall and adjusted her coat where it hung around her injured right arm. The taxi cruised carefully around a corner and started down a street that had clearly not yet been plowed from the previous night’s snowfall. The driver swore under his breath, and Helen glanced in his direction; he caught her eye in the rearview mirror.

“Looks like you’ve been in the wars. You sure you don’t want me to turn around and take you back home? Or to the hospital, maybe?” He had a European accent, indistinguishable to Helen’s ears, but was clearly speaking from a place of compassion.

Helen smiled and brushed a lock of her hair over her face to hide one of her more technicolor bruises. “Thank you, but I’m fine. It looks worse than it feels, believe me.”

The driver made a noncommittal noise and turned his attention back to the road, the old vehicle now having to slow to a crawl to accommodate the adverse conditions. Helen closed her eyes and listened to the garbled murmur of voices on the radio and the rumbling _sknnnnnch_ of tires on snow. With every beat of her heart a dull throb of pain lanced through the upper right side of her body. And her heart, unfortunately for her, was beating at a much quickened pace in anticipation of her destination, as it had been for the entire trip.

To her mind, there had been such little time between the accident and her waking up in a hospital bed with Bob clutching her hand. The fall had been so quick, the confusion and panic of seeing Polterghost phase into the sidewalk below her lasting only a microsecond before everything went black. Her moments of free-fall had been playing on repeat in her mind’s eye ever since she’d come to, and with every repetition came that same breathless moment of sheer terror as the words _I’m going to die_ suddenly drowned out every other thought. In that microsecond, the faces of her loved ones had flashed through her mind. Bob, Vi, Dash, Jack-Jack. Evelyn.

But she hadn’t died, thanks in large part to her natural elasticity but also to the fact that Polterghost had apparently rephased through the sidewalk and screamed for help until Karen and Bob were able to get to her. She’d escaped in the ensuing commotion, but Karen told Helen afterwards that she was sure help would have been far longer in coming if Polterghost hadn’t stayed by Helen’s side until the last possible second.

The next problem had been finding a doctor that would have any idea how to treat a body that responded to trauma and to treatment unlike any other. The Parr family regularly saw a Super-friendly family practitioner recommended to them by the NSA, but he was on the other side of the city and not equipped to deal with an emergency situation in the dead of night. Rick Dicker had been essential in this endeavor, guiding the ambulance drivers to a specific New Urbem hospital and then showing up there himself just after they arrived, still wearing pajamas and bunny slippers. The doctor they had seen was actually an undercover Super in her own right, possessing the ability of short-term future sight and using it to quickly sort through potential treatments in order to find the one that would have the best possible result.

Helen knew she was lucky. Incredibly so. So many things had to happen in order for her to be sitting here, in this taxi, mildly annoyed by the too-quiet-to-hear but too-loud-to-ignore radio. She’d almost had a panic attack in the hospital when she heard how long she’d been out, shaking uncontrollably in Bob’s arms despite the fact that every tremor sent waves of pain through her. Karen had arrived with Violet, Dash, and Jack-Jack a little while later, and the five Parrs had spent the next hour in a pile on Helen’s tiny hospital bed.

Only after the tears had stopped and Bob and the kids had gone down to the cafeteria to get some lunch did Helen’s mind finally wander back to the other face she’d seen in those moments before the impact. Her gut twinged with worry as she wondered what Evelyn might have thought of her sudden silence. She couldn’t quite remember what either of their last letters said, but sent a quick prayer to whomever was out there that it wasn’t anything that might have been construed as offense or anger on her part.

As if he could read her mind, Bob returned a short while later with lunch, and there, perched on the plastic tray next to the bowl of beef stew, was a pile of envelopes. Helen didn’t need to ask who they were from-- the neat, elegant handwriting on the front of all of them was heartwarmingly familiar. She and Bob ate in silence as Helen started from the oldest letter and began to read.

The first few letters were as worrying as she might have expected, and her heart ached to think of Evelyn alone and wondering. The gradual shift in Evelyn’s tone across the handful of letters-- from cheerful banter, to snarkiness, to confused hurt, and finally to complete desperation, left Helen’s soul in tatters, and she knew in that moment there would need to be more than a simple note back from her to make up for the lost time. She’d have to talk to her in person. _Wanted_ to talk to her in person, more than anything. But she needed to be able to walk, first.

Now, a week later, sitting in the slowly moving taxi and watching the leafbare oak trees crawl by, Helen realized she had no idea what she was going to say or do when Evelyn opened the door. Her days in the hospital had been filled with physical therapy, extensive medical testing, and visits from her extended family as well as from just about every Super in the tri-state area. It warmed her heart to see everyone, but exhausted her simultaneously; she’d spent much of her remaining time fast asleep, too tired even to dream.

Except when she dreamt of Evelyn.

More than once she had awoken from some fervid, languorous fantasy with Evelyn’s name on her lips, swearing that the mousy-haired scientist had really been with her in her tiny bed. This had only happened a handful of times, mercifully when no one else was in the room with her, but it still made her anxious to be thinking of Evelyn in such a way. She recalled the way Evelyn recoiled when she’d gotten a little too handsy during her haircut. If _that_ made Evelyn uncomfortable, she was sure there was no hope for anything more than friendship with her. Besides, it would be irresponsible for her to pursue it, in any case, what with her being Evelyn’s only friend and connection to the outside world besides Winston. She didn’t want to Stockholm Syndrome Evelyn into a relationship she might not have wanted, had Evelyn any other options.

She knew Winston had gone to visit her after Helen had woken up, mostly because he told her he had but also because she had started receiving letters again. She’d torn the first one open enthusiastically with her teeth when she received it, hoping to find some small sign, some indication that perhaps Evelyn felt something similar. But her letters were mostly just updates on her life, what she was eating and how her therapy sessions were going, as well as some secret new design project that was occupying most of her time. Helen was happy to hear that she was doing well, more than happy. But there was still a part of her, a selfish part, that wondered if Evelyn dreamed of her, too.

The taxi rumbled to a stop in front of the familiar pale blue home. Fishing her wallet out of her coat pocket and removing the crumpled bills with only one hand was a maddeningly slow process, her fingers made more clumsy by the way they shook gently with anticipation. She ended up inadvertently leaving the driver a much heftier tip than she might’ve otherwise, and allowed him to help her out of the car, her feet immediately feeling the cold of the snow through her thin flats. She had to lift her heavy coat slightly off of her right shoulder with her left hand to ease the pain of it weighing down on her clavicle.

She placed one foot carefully in front of the other in the ankle-deep snow, cringing at the thought of just how painful a slip on the unshoveled driveway might be on her injuries. The snow burned where it came in contact with the bare skin of her ankle, but she managed to make her way to the door without further incident. She inhaled deeply, feeling the constricting cloth around her ribcage expand slightly as she did so, and rang the bell.

* * *

The doorbell rang, and Evelyn snapped out of her trance. She wasn’t expecting Winston today, and needed more time to finish working through this aspect of the software design. It’d be nice to see him, but he would have to leave empty-handed.

Standing and shuffling her papers into something resembling a pile, she ran her thumb across her cheek and rolled her eyes when it came away stained black. The doorbell rang again, and Evelyn decided there wasn’t time to clean herself up. Winston was going to have to deal with her scruffy appearance, whether he liked it or not. She braced herself for his teasing comments and headed over to the door.

And then the door opened.

And there she was.

She looked like absolute shit. Healing bruises in all colors of the rainbow blanketed one side of her face and trailed down her neck, disappearing under her baggy v-neck shirt. They created a stark contrast against the slightly sickly pallor of her skin, though there was a rosy warmth to her cheeks. Her long black trench coat hung loosely off of her right shoulder, where she seemed to be holding it up so as to avoid the coat putting pressure on her bandaged arm, which was held across her body in a navy blue sling. But Evelyn barely noticed any of it, her gaze fixed squarely to Helen’s mahogany irises. Snowflakes adorned her eyelashes and nestled delicately into her russet hair. She was beautiful, and _here_ , and for a long, quiet moment Evelyn seriously wondered if this just was another dream.

“Hi,” said Helen.

“He...hey.” Evelyn gripped the edge of the door with both hands, the wind knocked clean out of her. Again her brain went blank, unable to string words together to form a coherent sentence. Eventually she settled on simply saying, “You’re up.”

Helen gave her a lopsided smile, never breaking eye contact. “I’m up.”

“I missed you.” The words were out of Evelyn’s mouth before she could stop them.

“So you said. In your letters, I mean.” There was something so ethereal, so otherworldly about her being here, on Evelyn’s doorstep, her affectionate tone and lovable lisp a balm to Evelyn’s starving ears. “I missed you, too.”

A sudden gust of wind broke the moment as Helen shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her body against the swirling flakes of white. “May I… come in?”

This jolted Evelyn out of her reverie. “Oh, uh, yeah! Sorry, sure. You must be freezing.” She felt a flustered blush rise across her face as she helped Helen inside and out of her coat, fully taking in the extent of Helen’s visible injuries and feeling the muscles in her throat constrict with belated panic as she realized the scope of just how bad Helen was hurt.

Helen saw her staring, and laughed nervously. “I know, I know. I look awful.” She tugged her hair to cover one of the discolored marks on her face.

“No, no, you look…” Evelyn absently reached out with one hand towards the healthy side of Helen’s face, but stopped just short of actually touching her. Suddenly embarrassed, she recoiled and stuffed that hand into her pocket and shrugged, trying to hide the fact that her blush was deepening. “Okay, you look awful," she said honestly, her tone containing more sympathy than bite. She turned away from Helen to hang her coat up in the closet but also so that she could have a moment to try and steady her breathing. “Talk about a _shiner."_

“Hey, I’m not the one covered in… what is that, ink?” Evelyn felt Helen's fingers brush against one of the splodges on her arm and felt a shudder run through her body as she turned back around to face her. 

“There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this, I assure you.” Evelyn absently ran a sleeve over one of the smudges on her cheek-- might as well, since this shirt was headed for the trash anyway. “I’m willing to bet I feel a little better than you do, though.”

Helen chuckled, though Evelyn could see there was a certain sadness in her eyes. “Tell me about it,” she said. “I feel like I’m more bruise than person right now.”

Evelyn’s sarcastic smile fell away as she showed Helen to the couch and helped her to sit. She was extremely aware of what had taken place the last time they had been in this room together, and did her best to squash down the urge to take Helen’s face in her hands and kiss her right there and then. _Hold it together, Deavor,_  she thought as she took a seat to Helen’s left. _You don’t want to lose her now, not when she’s finally back in your life._ “How bad was it?”

Helen sighed and leaned back against the cushion, wincing as she did so. “Oh, you know. A whole lot of internal bleeding, full-body contusions, some fractured ribs, and a broken collarbone. Can you believe it?” She pointed to her sling to add emphasis to her words. “I’ve never broken a bone before. I didn’t think it was possible.”

Evelyn’s vision swam. “ _Jesus,_ Helen.”

“It’s not all bad, though.” Helen analyzed the back of her left hand as if there had also been a lesion there that had since healed. “My injuries are pretty minor, considering, and the doctor says it’s likely my powers are helping me to heal way faster than normal. I think she said I have  _extra springy granulation tissue,_  whatever that means.” She looked at Evelyn out of the corner of her eye and smirked. “So that’s a fun discovery.”

“I’m just… so glad you’re alive.” Evelyn’s voice was quiet, and Helen turned to face her fully, her bemused smirk now vanished. Their knees were inches apart, and Evelyn drew circles with her right index finger into the fabric of the couch near where Helen’s left hand rested. She could have sworn she saw Helen’s fingers twitch closer to hers. “When you didn’t write back, I… I assumed the worst.” There was a beat of silence as Evelyn realized something else. “And by ‘worst’, I’m actually not referring to the fact that you could have died.” Her voice broke a little on the last word. “Isn’t that horrible of me?”

“Evelyn, I’m so sorry about that. I never wanted you to feel like I’d left you all alone.”

“What? Don’t apologize, the accident wasn’t your fault.” Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck with the hand that wasn’t a hair’s breadth from Helen’s. “If anything, _I_ should be the one apologizing. There were things I wrote in some of those letters I wish I could take back.”

Helen suddenly covered Evelyn’s hand with her own, spreading warmth through Evelyn’s hand and up her arm and sending her pulse skyrocketing. “You might wish that, but I don’t.”

Evelyn looked up, her blood roaring in her ears, to see that Helen had moved closer to her, their knees now touching lightly. Evelyn sucked in a breath through her nose. This wasn’t real. _Couldn’t_ be. Helen rubbed her thumb back and forth over the top of Evelyn’s wrist, and Evelyn turned her hand over so that they were palm-to-palm. Her index and middle fingers must have been pressed against Helen’s ulnar vein, because she felt a feather-light pulsing sensation in the pads of her fingertips. It was fast, almost as fast as her own heartbeat.

Helen looked down to their hands and then back up to Evelyn, clearly experiencing a similar sensation. There was a question of permission in Helen’s eyes, in the way they flicked down to Evelyn’s lips. In the way her breath was ragged and visibly apparent in the rise and fall of her shoulders. Evelyn’s left hand unthinkingly gravitated to rest on Helen’s knee, as it had at the end of Helen’s last visit so many weeks ago. Helen’s hand slowly traveled up Evelyn’s wrist and arm until it came to rest against the side of her neck, leaving a searing trail along Evelyn’s skin and unwittingly smearing blots of ink here and there as she went. Evelyn picked up her right hand from where it rested on the couch and ran her fingers gingerly over Helen’s jaw, avoiding the discolored areas, to cup her right cheek in her palm.

Evelyn’s body was alive with want, every fibre of her being aching for her to close the distance between her and the radiant woman only a breath’s distance away from her.

But in the end it was Helen who moved first, closing the gap between them and pressing her warm lips delicately against Evelyn's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter ahoy! I tried to fit it in one, but it was getting long and I know you guys don't want me to skimp out on the good bit ;)
> 
> Final chapter will come late Sunday or early Monday, with an epilogue to follow shortly afterwards.
> 
> Love, Cherubino


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

A shuddering gasp passed from one woman to the other as Evelyn melted into Helen with a heady and desperate fervor, feeling for all the world as if fireworks were going off in her brain. Every sense was blissfully overwhelmed by Helen’s intoxicating closeness, the scent that she’d become so familiar with through the corduroy jacket now dazzlingly overpowering as Evelyn kissed her with all of the tenderness and reverence and intense desire she’d never been able to put into a letter.

Any initial clumsiness as they adjusted to each other’s bodies quickly gave way to effortless, synchronous movement. Helen was everywhere, her good hand tangled in Evelyn’s hair and pulling her deeper into the kiss. Evelyn responded in kind, raking her fingers through Helen’s russet locks and using her other hand to pull their bodies closer together, always leaving enough space for Helen’s injured arm to rest comfortably between them in its sling.

Helen hummed contentedly into Evelyn’s mouth, swiping her tongue over Evelyn’s lower lip, and Evelyn saw stars; a desperate noise escaped her as her lips parted to allow Helen further access, her fingers tightening in Helen’s hair and a shock of warmth flooding through her at Helen’s resulting gasp of pleasure.

Helen’s lips wandered away from hers and pressed eagerly into the skin at the corner of Evelyn’s mouth before lining a trail of kisses down her throat; Evelyn craned her head backwards, arching into Helen’s ministrations, one hand thrown behind her to steady herself and the other roaming over whatever parts of Helen she could reach. Through her haze of desire Evelyn suddenly became aware of a strange tightening sensation around her ribcage, and she glanced down to see Helen’s arm stretched several times around her chest; the image of an anaconda going in for the kill sprung to mind, and a shiver of ecstasy shook her from head to toe.

A pool of liquid heat settled into the pit of her stomach as she felt teeth against her jugular vein, and lights danced in front of her eyes as Helen nuzzled aside the collar of Evelyn’s shirt to press kisses into her collarbone. Despite the fact that her arm was still wrapped around her chest Helen’s hand still found its way underneath the stained fabric of her shirt, spreading a glow of warmth across her stomach.

Deciding it had been too long since she’d kissed her, Evelyn slipped tender fingers underneath Helen’s chin to bring their faces back together. A memory of a similar situation on a certain jet plane less than eight months prior flashed across Evelyn’s mind, and she found herself smiling as she gazed rapturously at the woman before her, both their eyes lidded and their cheeks ruddy with desire, and with Helen’s face now as ink-dappled as Evelyn’s. _Oh, how sweetly the tables have turned._

Helen was all too eager to comply with Evelyn’s unspoken command, kissing her desperately, hungrily, their lips crushing together again as moans escaped both women simultaneously. Evelyn’s hands roamed around Helen’s head and neck, her left eventually trailing to the juncture of Helen’s v-neck shirt, gasping with exhilaration as she felt Helen’s arm constrict around her in response.

Suddenly, Helen’s body seized up. She jerked away from Evelyn and made a strangled noise, her arm unraveling from around her and snapping back into place and her hand flying to her shoulder. Evelyn scrambled backwards on the couch as a flash of panic shot through her, muddling sickeningly with the heady lust still pulsing through her veins, excitement turning to fear in an instant.

“Oh, God, oh _shit_ , I’m sorry, I--” every intrusive thought she’d ever had about Helen’s feelings towards her flooded her conscious. Helen changing her mind, Helen realizing that she didn’t want this after all, Helen only enduring Evelyn’s infatuation because she felt guilty about her situation--

And then Helen’s voice was there, breaking through the wall of dread as easily as if it were made of paper. “Evelyn, stop, it's okay." Helen’s face was scrunched up as she sat doubled over on the couch, breathing heavily. “I just… forgot. About my collarbone.” She looked up at Evelyn from where she was hunched over, an agonized smile painted across her flushed features. “Still broken, in case you were wondering.” Straightening up a little, she stretched her hand across the length of the couch to let it rest gently against Evelyn’s cheek. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Evelyn’s heart was still racing, but she covered Helen’s hand with her own, feeling the tenderness behind it and finally understanding the tortured look in Helen’s eyes to be physical pain instead of regret. She turned her head into Helen’s palm and kissed it, breathing deeply. Slowly she crawled back over to where Helen sat, the knot of unease in her gut relaxing slightly but not fully unwinding.

“I’m sorry. I only thought-- I thought you might have changed your mind about wanting this,” Evelyn said meekly, playing with Helen’s hand in her own, their fingers lazily intertwining in the air between them.

“What? Of course not.” Helen took Evelyn’s cheek in her hand again, drawing their faces together. This time Evelyn moved first, capturing Helen’s lips with her own and kissing her deeply, unhurriedly, drinking in the scent and taste and feel of her with tantalizingly slow movements of her lips and tongue.

Helen pulled away gently and brought her forehead to rest against Evelyn’s, speaking softly but with urgency in her eyes. “I only want… that is, I want to make sure I’m not forcing you into this.” Evelyn pulled her head back, blinking in surprise, as Helen continued, “you don’t exactly have a lot of romantic options at the moment. I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of your situation.”

Evelyn could only laugh at the intensity of the worry plastered all across Helen’s face, the sheer absurdity of it throwing her for a loop as everything suddenly became so much clearer. “ _That’s_ what you were so worried about? All this time, you thought I was flirting with you because you were my _only option?_ ” She dissolved into giggles, leaning forward and peppering light kisses all across Helen’s look of surprise.

“I was-- hey-- I was only trying to do the right thing,” Helen pouted, the mock-offense in her voice eventually giving way to laughter as well. Evelyn wiped a tear from her eye and took Helen’s face in both of her hands, leaning close and letting her voice drop low in her chest.

“Oh, Elastigirl. I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you.”

“Really?” Helen cooed playfully, brushing the backs of her fingers against the skin of Evelyn’s stomach. She moved closer, so much so that she was nearly straddling Evelyn’s hips. “Since that first night at Devtech?”

“Since high school, if we’re being pedantic about it.” Evelyn tilted Helen’s head up and pressed her teeth to Helen’s neck, her heart doing happy somersaults when she felt Helen’s body shudder in her arms in response.

“Hm,” said Helen, and Evelyn wasn’t sure if she’d meant to or if the sound had just slipped out. “So, when it came time to pick which of the three of us you’d be working closely with…”

  
Evelyn pulled away, lidded eyes glinting with roguish delight. “Oh, the data was all unbiased. You were the best pick for the job, no doubt about it. But I can’t say I wasn’t pleased with the result.”

Helen arched her eyebrows as she chuckled through her nose, though she looked away from Evelyn. Again her expression was tinged with nervousness, something worrying clearly on the forefront of her mind.

Evelyn took her hand. “What’s wrong?”

“I just reminded myself of something.” She chewed on her lower lip and timidly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Listen, I don’t want you to be worried about Bob, or… or think I’m cheating on him, or anything. We have an arrangement--”

“Oh, that? I know.”

“You do?” Helen’s chestnut gaze shot up to meet Evelyn’s.

“He told me.”

“He _did?_ ”

Evelyn laughed again. “Yes, when he visited me. Just after your…” she trailed off, figuring that her meaning was clear. Helen looked shell-shocked, glancing about the room and clearly trying to picture Bob in it.

“Wow. That was… big of him.” Helen raised an eyebrow in her direction. “I can’t imagine how awkward that must have been.”

Evelyn pressed her lips against the fabric of Helen’s shirt, right in the center of her chest at the juncture of her shirt’s neckline. “You have no idea.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” she said, running her good hand up the back of Evelyn’s neck and tipping her face up so that she could press another kiss to the corner of Evelyn’s lips. “Later.”

Evelyn _hmmed_ in agreement and kissed her again, tantalizingly slowly, clutching the fabric at the back of her shirt in her fist as if holding on for dear life. It still didn’t seem quite real, having Helen here with her, on her lap, in her arms, but Evelyn wasn’t about to pinch herself to check. She ran her fingertips delicately under the hem of Helen’s shirt and discovered what appeared to be cloth bandages extending pretty far down Helen’s torso. She _also_ noticed the way Helen gasped at her feather-light touches around her midsection, and filed that important information away for future reference.

“You really did a number on yourself, Helen Parr,” Evelyn murmured into Helen’s lips. Helen sighed in agreement, running a hand through her own hair.

“You’re not kidding." Helen adjusted her sling where it hung around her neck. When she turned her attention back to Evelyn, her mahogany eyes flashed with longing. "I’m sorry I can’t be as… physical with you as I’d like to be, at the moment.”

The words knocked the wind out of Evelyn for the twentieth time that afternoon, and she responded by smoothing her hands down Helen’s thighs and hitching them up a little higher on her lap, causing the woman on top of her to make a noise of surprise.

“Well. I’ve been imagining this for months, so what’s a little longer to wait while you recover? Besides,” Evelyn gently drew Helen’s head closer to hers so that she could purr directly into Helen’s ear, “I can be gentle.”

Helen let out a fluttering breath. Suddenly she was standing and holding out her good hand to Evelyn in invitation, her expression darkened by desire. Evelyn took the outstretched hand and stood to meet her, pulling their bodies as flush as they could get without jostling Helen’s sling. Evelyn matched her gaze, the hunger in Helen’s eyes unmistakeable in the cold light of the winter’s afternoon as it glanced across her brow.

“You know,” Evelyn whispered, moving her thumb across one of the ink stains on Helen’s cheek. “You make it so very, very hard to be bad.” She bent one knee so that it found space to reside between the slightly taller woman’s thighs.

“Well,” said Helen, her voice dripping with want. “That _is_ my job. Making supervillains’ lives difficult.” Evelyn let her thumb trail idly across Helen’s lips, and felt her breath catch in her chest when Helen unexpectedly caught it between her teeth for just a moment, using just enough pressure to leave faint marks.

“I see. And is that the reason you wrote me in the first place, Elastigirl? To make my life _difficult?_ ” There was no bite in her tone, only a teasing, devilish langor as Evelyn moved her lips to within an inch of Helen’s.

“There may have been… ulterior motives.” Evelyn felt the hot breath of each word against the corner of her mouth and grinned, remembering their long-ago conversation around the breakfast table.

“Hm. Well, I’d say I prefer this sort of communication to letter-writing,” Evelyn breathed. She tipped her head forward to steal another kiss but caught air, letting out a small whine in protest.

“Oh, I agree,” said Helen as she stepped backwards towards the hallway that led to the master bedroom, tugging Evelyn’s hand behind her as she went. “This is far better than letters. Far, far better, for sure.”

Evelyn smiled as she followed in her superheroine’s footsteps, thinking wryly to herself that Elastigirl might just be the one to make a Superfan of her yet.

Not that she'd complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow. I cannot believe it's really over. This fandom has been such an adventure, and I'm so glad to have been a part of it when it was just beginning. Shoutout to the discord and all of the tumblr lovelies for all of their love and support, and major love also to all of the other incredible fic writers and artists and commenters who've made this journey so much fun. There will be a very short epilogue to come in a few days' time, and then after that... we'll just have to see, won't we? (eye emoji)
> 
> Love, Cherubino


	17. Epilogue

Dear Ms. Deavor,

Pleasant holidays to you. I’m writing to inform you of an amendment to your sentence that was put into place early this morning. As I’m sure you’re aware, your minimum sentence of house arrest is approaching its completion, meaning that you are up for the possibility of parole. In the past several days I have heard impassioned testimonies from Mr. Winston Deavor as well as several superheroes, which I must say were an interesting sight to behold all sitting in a colorful row in my courtroom. In particular your most vocal supporter was one "Elastigirl", who spoke of your desire to make reparations for your past misdeeds. Considering she was the one most egregiously affected by your actions, I took her words in particular to heart.

It is my understanding that barring an incident in the early stages of your incarceration you have also shown tremendous progress with the district-assigned therapist in treating the emotional traumas of your father's murder and the subsequent pressures placed upon you at such a young age. It is his belief that these traumas were not addressed properly during such a crucial period of emotional development, which likely had a severe negative impact on your mental and emotional well-being during adulthood. For that you have my sincerest condolences.

Several artifacts of your return to inventing, this time in the name of technological innovation and philanthropy, were also presented to the courts by your brother. His argument stated that continuing to disallow your utilization of Devtech resources and technologies will come at a detriment to our city, and that you have shown a sincere desire to use your skills to improve the lives of Municiberg citizens.

I am thereby approving your request for parole, with a handful of stipulations that your parole officer will discuss with you in further detail. You will still be confined to your home after a certain time in the evening, but will be allowed to travel to and from Devtech headquarters during the workday. In addition, your ban from technological equipment will be partially lifted, although your activities will obviously be monitored by a state official until you are released from house arrest. Your weekly therapy sessions will continue, though you may request to have your case file transferred to a private family therapist, should you prefer. Your parole officer will be keeping a close eye on both you and your brother to ensure that all rules are followed, but I’m also asking you personally to make sure that my faith in you is not misplaced.

You and your brother have, over the course of your joint heading of Devtech, made great contributions to society. It is my hope that allowing you this privilege will inspire you to continue using your skills and resources to make the world a better place.

Sincerely,

Alexandra C. Cooper

Magisterial District Judge

* * *

Helen,

Come over. Bring champagne. And a radio.

Love, Evelyn


End file.
